


The Mechanic

by DaytonBay



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A variety of OCs to keep the plot humming, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cannoli is almost a character, F/M, London-centric, Unplanned Pregnancy, With some foreign side trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 122,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaytonBay/pseuds/DaytonBay
Summary: It's a magical midsummer night, just made for following a persuasive, dangerous-looking lawyer to a hotel across the road from the party. But then reality catches up to Rey.





	1. The Party

Rey owned two dresses – one for parties, and one for anytime some business needed doing that required dressing up – and she’d be the first to admit that she hadn’t been quite certain where this event fell on the spectrum. Normally, she’d say party dress: the evening began at 8, there was to be wine and what the elegant woman who’d invited her had described as ‘nibbles’. Rey could nibble her weight in free food. She’d worked briefly as a waitress in catering and even knew exactly where to stand to maximise her chances of a decent meal: about 3 metres from the kitchen door, just to the left, a natural first stop for waiters with their newly-laden trays. But as the job was linked to work, she considered the business dress – a navy blue shirtdress in a soft, silky material that was nowhere near the cost of actual silk. She dug out a pair of black heels from the back of her wardrobe and wiped them down with a damp tea towel. She considered herself in the chipped bathroom mirror of her studio flat: it might do.

She’d been working at the garage for only a week when she was invited to this event. The owner, Unkar Plutt, had hired her on the spot when she’d managed to overhaul a delicate transmission on a 1950 Fiat 500 - an adorable, tiny thing in buttercup yellow - the beloved pet of a stylish Italian signora who paid over the odds for the work. and whose son seemed to run every tyre franchise in greater London. The signora had been grateful, and left a large tip, but sadly had done so in Unkar’s view. He’d taken the lot. Rey argued and managed to wrangle £10 back, but the man made it clear that any money that came into the shop – tips or no – was to be handed over to him. As a sort of recompense, he’d not quibbled about the party the well-dressed woman had invited Rey to attend. “It’s all tyres and cars, but I suppose you’ll be interested such things,” she’d shrugged. “Pretty girl like you – I wish my grandsons would meet someone nice, who knew the value of a day’s work.”

Without a doubt, Rey knew the value of a day’s work. As she was still only 20, Unkar could get away with paying her £6.15 an hour, and she had no doubt that he’d be tossing her to the street when she turned 21 and qualified for the next tier of pay. She budgeted everything, her savings neatly stored in labelled tins and jars on a bookshelf: the cost of the bus to the event came from the ‘special events’ fund. The recycled jam jar contained £7, but then Rey had few special events to drain her savings. It was only this thought, that she was like Cinderella on day release for the ball, that prompted her to change into the black party dress: asymmetric hem, one shoulder, sleek and very reasonably-priced from Asos last year. She dug through the kitchen drawer for a long lost lipstick, picked up her battered phone and her £7 in small coins, and headed out.

Cars and tyres, indeed. The party seemed to be some sort of high level corporate networking event, but the location on the Southbank, overlooking the Thames on a pretty midsummer night, brightened her outlook. Threading her way through the crowd, Rey amused herself by counting every watch that cost more than her annual income. Still, she thought she looked pretty in her dress and her inexpensive make-up and her one pair of heels, and she felt elegant stepping out onto the balcony with a glass of fizz in her (relatively) clean(ish) hands and a belly full of goat’s cheese canapes. She watched the tail end of the sunset over the river and briefly wondered when she had last thought about London being pretty. Or herself, for that matter. Then she turned on her faithful heels and walked back through the French doors and into the Edwardian ballroom. She peeped into the beautiful Alfa Romeo on display in the centre of the festivities.

She rounded the curvaceous sports coupe, running her hand over the flawless paintjob on the bonnet. Allowing herself a moment of fantasy, Rey ducked down for a look at the driver’s seat, all leather and grace, and very very briefly pictured herself at the wheel. Ah, well, she sighed, standing up with a wistful little exhalation. She had money in her handbag for a bus home and that was not to be sniffed at; plenty of times she’d had to walk miles for lack of bus fare. She’d eaten well and was a bit tipsy with the free alcohol. All in all, a worthy night.

“Rey!” She whipped her head around, spotting her signora standing with a group of men in expensive suits. The signora signalled her over to join them. “I’m so glad you could come! Giovanni, this is the girl who saved my dear Peppenuzzo – I named my car after my late husband, you see,” she added to Rey. “I really thought he’d had it this time. This girl works miracles!” 

Giovanni smiled indulgently at his mother. “Thank you for resurrecting the 500 – it means a great deal to my mother. I bought her a Guilia and a chauffeur, but she still loves her Peppe.” Giovanni kept talking, perfectly pleasant, but a pair of men in the group, both outlandishly tall and built to intimidate, looked at her impatiently. Her signora must have interrupted their business, and Rey started looking for a way to extricate herself. She was standing next to one of the men, with overlong dark hair and a too-pensive expression, and he tapped a shiny shoe in her direction.

“A mechanic?” The dark-haired man’s colleague sneered. The red-head considered her from his great height, and she wondered for a moment if she should display her nails as proof. She’d noticed as she was plucking her first glass of champagne from a passing tray that she’d neglected to remove absolutely all of the black grime that clung to the undersides of her short nails, but the champagne had soon chased away any embarrassment the realisation had caused. “Your mother brought her mechanic to this?”

“I brought myself,” she said, taking a nervous sip from a flute so sparkling clean that she feared leaving oily fingerprints behind. “But thank you for the invitation, Mrs Amato. I enjoyed seeing the lovely Alfa Romeo. Does it also belong to the family?”

“That one’s mine,” Giovanni grinned. “She’s not the most reliable car, but she’s a looker. At any rate, you’re most welcome here if you appreciate cars,” he added, politely dismissive.

“You see, Rey. I told you this would be just your sort of thing,” Mrs Amato patted her hand. Rey thought that this was very much not her sort of thing, and the car-related sexism she could do without. But she spotted the waiters starting to come around with trays of exquisite little desserts, and she decided to forgive her host his faults.

“Do you work exclusively on Italian cars?” The dark man’s voice seemed out of line with his size, soft and genuinely interested. Calm.

“No. I work on whatever comes through the shop,” she chirped. He was standing so close to her that she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye.

“She’s at Plutt’s garage,” Mrs Amato put in.

“Plutt?” Giovanni made a face. “Mother, what in the world were you doing in that part of town?”

“I was finding this angel for my Peppe,” she laughed, squeezing Rey’s arm.

“It’s not a safe place to work,” the dark voice intoned. “Not a safe place for you to be, Mrs Amato.”

“Rey,” she sighed, “This is Kylo Ren, and he worries too much.”

“I think he worries just the right amount,” Giovanni put in.

He wasn't wrong there, this Kylo. Plutt's garage was dodgy in and of itself - she could tell after only working there one week - and the area that surrounded it seemed to make even the bus drivers a bit jumpy, keen to shut the doors behind her quickly when she alighted in the mornings and reluctant to stop when she waited in the evenings. But Rey had no references, no official work history in garages and she looked at Plutt's as a necessary step on the ladder, even if the rung was at sewer level. 

"Plutt is scum," Kylo commented straight at her, still quiet and rational. "It's not a safe place for you to work." Like that was her fault. She looked into his eyes, a little startled at his harsh assessment, but his gaze seemed open and inquisitive. 

She shrugged apologetically, her bare shoulder brushing the man's jacket. "It's a job," she answered lightly, hoping to shift attention from herself.

"There are other jobs. You should try to find one," he added, not unkindly, but not with any level of understanding, either. 

Rey watched the little desserts disappearing from the trays and decided to free herself; Kylo's attention seemed more intense than necessary. “Thank you again, Mrs Amato, for the invitation. I hope you’ll call me if you have any further problems with Peppe. Perhaps Mr Plutt will let me come to you instead of you driving to us.” Rey smiled, gave her hostess’s hand a friendly squeeze, and escaped to the terrace. Twenty minutes later, floating on a cloud of brightly coloured macaroons and Sicilian dessert wine, she drifted to the exit. Best get the bus before it turned into a pumpkin, she grinned drunkenly to herself, as she strolled along the pavement to the bus stop. She’d made it ten steps out the door when she bumped into a wall. Or a person who felt like a wall.

“If it isn’t the mechanic." Kylo. His dark hair looked shiny as his shoes in the streetlight. Tipsy Rey knew that he was once again standing too close to her, and her eyes were level with the knot in his skyblue tie. Black hair, black suit, black shirt, black shoes – only the tie added colour. His eyes looked black, too, in this light.

“It is,” Rey managed, “the mechanic.” She took one slightly wobbly step back. He had the driver’s side door of his car open, and the interior looked slightly more luxurious than the Alfa Romeo had. A Jaguar F-type, she noted vaguely. The man he’d been standing next to while she was talking to Giovanni, the red-head with the disapproving scowl, was folded into the passenger seat.

“Kylo, let’s move,” the red-head called.

“One moment, Hux,” the man – Kylo – replied. He was still standing too close. “I’ve been needing a mechanic,” he said evenly. “You work on Jags?”

I work on whatever Unkar tells me to work on, she thought. “Absolutely,” she answered instead. Maybe if she brought this type of business into the garage, Unkar would pay her a bit more than the minimum.

“I’ll bring her in then. You have a card?” Rey shook her head – she’d never even considered the possibility of having cards. “Nevermind. I’ll ask Giovanni for your details.” He kept looking at her – still too close and still too scrutinizing – before sliding neatly into the car. Still watching her standing unsteadily on the pavement, his hands playing across the steering wheel. He seemed to come to a decision.

“Take an Uber, Hux.”

“Are you fucking serious?” the red-head spluttered.

“Yes, _fucking_ serious,” Kylo shot back, and reached across Hux to pop open the passenger door. “Vacate.” Hux threw open his door, narrowly missing a cyclist, and let loose a stream of invective at Kylo.

“Yeah, see you Monday, too,” Kylo nodded, then turned his watchful eyes back to her. To his credit, he kept his eyes on her face. “Rey, it seems I have a spare seat. Would you like a ride home?”

Rey looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Ummm. No. I am not drunk enough to get into a car with a complete stranger,” she reasoned. She could hear Hux angrily searching for an Uber five metres down the road. “I’ll just get the bus as planned, thanks.” She turned to resume her walk to the bus stop. Behind her, a car down shut with an expensive, muffled thwap, and Kylo fell into step with her.

“Believe it or not, it's your safety I'm thinking of,” Kylo answered. “Come have a drink with me. Then you can decide about the ride. There's a hotel bar across the road -” he indicated with his head, his soft hair falling around his face.

“Sooo… you want to get me slightly drunker, then have me get into the car with a complete stranger?”

“I was going to suggest coffee. Or a bottle of water.” He tilted his head. "Just to sober you up a bit before your journey home."

Rey liked his look – a bit odd. Very tall. Older than her, maybe about 30? Everything about him looked expensive. She knew quite well what he hoped to acheive in taking her across the road to a hotel, but the prospect only intrigued her. She tried to remember the last time she’d had sex: it had been many months ago, a boy she’d originally met in her last foster home. She hadn’t seen him since.

She didn’t need to decide now, of course. She could have a coffee and consider his proposition. If he seemed non-psychotic, the hotel might work – a place where she could reliably call for help. Cinderella could take a detour on the way home all the better; everything was going to turn back to cinders and ashes tomorrow morning, no matter what time she got in. She could prolong the sparkle a bit longer with this expensive man and his mismatched, dark looks and his offer of a hotel room with, no doubt, lush sheets and room service. She’d never experienced either before, and she figured treating herself to a little luxury and the attentions of this man would be a nice way to round out a nice evening.

“Very well, maybe a fizzy water,” she agreed, following him across the street to the hotel bar.


	2. The Hotel

With her swishy dress in the balmy night, Rey felt pretty, even if nothing she had ever owned shined like his cufflinks. And his shoes. And his watch that, on reflection, probably cost more than what she’d earn in two years. But this was him asking her for sex, wasn’t it? She must look pretty enough tonight, if he was ushering her into a hotel bar with his hand on the middle of her back, so she sank into the plush mint green sofa in a corner and crossed her legs at the ankle like a heroine from a BBC period drama. She ordered a sparkling water with lime when a waiter approached. With a speculative smile, Kylo took the seat next to her on the sofa rather than the matching chair directly opposite, but he sat at enough of a distance to make talking to him comfortable. His dark eyes were surprisingly respectful – she’d expected a lot more leering, more looking down her dress. She caught a whiff of his cologne, woodsy and clean, and suddenly wished that she’d passed by a department store on her way here to spritz on perfume.

She still felt, to mix her fairy tale metaphors, a bit like she was in Wonderland. She wouldn’t be overly surprised if a white bunny with a pocketwatch delivered their drinks.

He’d ordered whiskey, which made her want to roll her eyes at the cliché of him. He asked her a few questions about her job, which she admitted she’d not been in for long, and he quite pointedly asked her age. He did not volunteer his own.

“So do you work with Mrs Amata’s son, Giovanni?” she asked, taking a sip of her water. She loved fizzy water but normally couldn’t justify the expense when tap water was free.

“I’m a lawyer,” he said, as though that answered the question.

“Are you Giovanni’s lawyer?”

“No, Hux is Giovanni’s lawyer. I’m Giovanni’s boss’s lawyer,” he replied. “But we attend their parties so that we can see for ourselves what’s going on.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he reverted to silence, just looking her over, sipping his whiskey, maybe inching a little closer. Then finally: “What’s your connection to Giovanni’s mother?”

Rey shrugged. “Luck of the draw – the garage owner thought I’d have the easiest time with the Fiat. I stayed with a family when I was 11, and the father had a rough collection of Italian cars, mostly not running. But he liked to work on them, and I think I was the only person in a decade who’d showed any interest. I knew all the basics of taking care of cars by the time I left six months later.” She didn’t add that she’d made it a point to learn more: families were keener to keep a child who could change their oil, rewire their plugs, fix their toasters. Only to herself, she’d admit that she’d learned in the hope that someone would find her so useful that they’d adopt her. Never worked.

Kylo had definitely shifted closer. He wasn’t being smooth about it, almost telegraphing every centimetre he took to test her reaction. By the time she’d told him that worked at the garage from Tuesday to Sunday, he was sitting so close that she had to tip her head right back to look at him. Without waiting for permission, he slid his hand into the back of her hair and pulled her in close, then kissed her. Rey sighed and parted her lips. She would have expected herself to feel nervous about this, but she just felt drunk on him, free of herself, ready for more.

Although she had precious little to compare him with, he seemed to her quite a good kisser. She had ample opportunity to make up her mind as he set his drink down and pulled her into his lap, all without removing his mouth from hers. So much for the period drama; this drink had devolved rather quickly into past-the-watershed territory.

She was of a height with him this way, with her legs – still crossed at the ankle, thank you – dangling over the right side of his lap and one of his hands secure on her hip. He kissed her deeply until she was kissing him back and snuggling closer. His tongue was soft and warm and his hands were gentle and Rey was feeling like this whole night was the best decision she’d ever made.

With one eye cracked open to make sure this was actually happening in reality, Rey saw him signal for the waiter, who stood waiting redfaced next to their sofa until Kylo decided to break the kiss.

“The cheque, sir?” the waiter enquired archly.

“The cheque and a room, with a view to the river,” Kylo answered, not shifting his eyes from Rey or his hand for her hip and her hair.

“That’s for the best,” the waiter answered, gathering their glasses. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Kylo smelled divine. He had soft lips and strong hands and he was taking care of everything – the affronted waiter, the embarrassingly obvious need for a room – Rey found herself kissing down his long neck as he and the waiter exchanged his credit card for a room key. It was the only move she’d made herself – everything else involved letting him do wonderful things to her – and he near-growled at the evidence of her little show of independent desire.

Rey giggled; she couldn’t tamp down her excitement. She’d never hooked up with a guy she didn’t know; she’d never had drinks on velvety sofas in a chic little bar; she’d never ever stayed in a hotel. Grotty B&Bs a couple of times, numerous times in a shelter, but never a proper hotel. She’d seen hotel rooms on tv, of course, and she couldn’t wait to see one first-hand. She felt brimful of want: she wanted Kylo, she wanted to soak in every detail of the bar, the lobby, the lift – the whole fantastical scene had the scent of Kylo’s cologne, he was so close to her and just never stepped away, kissing her, pressing her to the wall of the lift while he reached behind her to press the button for their floor. Their floor, and she almost giggled again at the shared pronoun. She wanted to be taken care of. Rey sighed her utter submission to this otherworldly one-off; let Kylo choose, let Kylo lead, let Kylo open the door to the wide, stylish room with the four poster bed and the pristine white duvet, let Kylo pick her up like she weighed nothing and set her down on it.

He slid her outlet heels from her feet, he smoothed his hands up her bare legs and beneath the short skirt of her party dress, caressing her thighs. The few boys she’d slept with had never caressed anything; they’d been sweet enough, but as clueless as she was, and eager to get to the ‘main event’. Kylo, though, Kylo was crawling over her, his shoes and jacket discarded on the floor, placing warm kisses across her chest, above the neckline of her dress, and up her neck, nuzzling and sucking. Rey had gooseflesh down her arms and legs from a spot he tickled behind her ear. His big hands roamed over her hips and up and down her torso, his thumbs sweeping over her nipples.

“Do you like that?” he rumbled, returning to a spot on her neck that made her shiver.

“Mmmmhmmm,” she sighed, scratching her nails in the nape of his neck. She liked it very much; it was marvellous. Rey wished she could magic away her dress and bra and stretch out across the luxurious bed naked, like a pornographic Disney princess, while Ben kissed and stroked everywhere.

He must have read her mind, or perhaps she’d said that out loud, because he levered his hands behind her back and found the zip of her dress; she arched and shimmied to help him work it over her hips and onto the floor. Kylo licked and kissed his way down with the dress, across her simple black bra, his fingers running across her breasts in the wake of his lips. He continued down her abdomen, lingering over her belly button, as her own fingers swept through his hair.

“You’re 20?” He asked again from just above the line of her black knickers, his teeth plucking at the elastic. It was the third time he’d confirmed her age. He smoothed a finger along her inner thigh, just barely brushing her knickers.

“I am, yes,” she nodded emphatically, near-panting with want.

“You’re just so small,” he looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers. He held her gaze and licked across the top of her knickers, his tongue wet and smooth and promising, and Rey could feel her clit pulsating in answer.

“Only by comparison,” she whispered, “I mean, you’re just huge, so…” Almost immediately, she realised what she’d implied, and he laughed, and he nuzzled into her mound through the fabric.

He hooked his fingers around the material at either side of her hips and let his thumbs play across the underside, sometimes just barely stroking beneath the elastic. “You’re wet,” he inhaled the scent of her dramatically. “You smell incredible. Can these come off?” She sighed happily in answer, but Kylo continued to nose at her knickers. “I’ll need verbal answers from you, Rey,” he explained in his low voice.

“Yes,” she answered, still entirely ready to let Kylo run this show. She was furiously taking notes in her head; next time she found a boy she like, she’d be explaining to him how to run Kylo’s playbook. He very slowly dragged her knickers down her legs, stopping to suck a mark into her inner thigh as he went. After dropping her knickers on the floor, he returned to that mark, licking and sucking around it, moving further up her inner thigh by slow degrees.

“Do you like this?” he asked, and when she hmmmed a response, he waited patiently until she gave him a clear ‘yes’. “I’d like to lick you until you come, Rey, is that all right?”

“Yes, Kylo,” she smiled hazily, and she let him spread her thighs apart, his fingers digging into the flesh of her arse as he tilted her hips up to his mouth. His thumbs rubbed circles, ever wider until they were picking up some of her moisture, just barely dipping inside. He licked across her clit once, and Rey stiffened under the unexpected pleasure of it. His thumbs kept slipping just a little inside of her as he licked sweeping circles around her clit.

“You’re so tight,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “And very young.” Then, suddenly, with a bit of concern: “Are you a virgin, Rey?”

“No,” she stuttered out, her grip of the sheets tightening. It wasn’t a lie, though the two times she’d actually let a boy inside, it had been very quick and a little painful.

“Good,” he continued, sucking at her the way he’d sucked that mark into her thigh. He kept going, licking and sucking, the feeling so intense that Rey didn’t feel any pain at the fingers he’d slipped into her, and then they were stroking some wonderful place inside. It was almost like what she’d do for herself, but way better. Far, far better. She widened her legs for him.

“Please,” she heard herself pleading with him. “Harder.”

He increased the pressure and sucked with renewed purpose. Rey gave in and started moving her hips against his mouth, the core of her suffused with pleasure. One of his hands moved to her belly, pressing her against the bed, his long fingers stretching up to touch the underside of her breast. He didn’t make it as far as her bra before her back arched off the bed, his hand sliding around her ribs and beneath her spine to support her, and she felt a glorious release from all the tension he’d built up since he kissed her in the bar. She sank into the soft sheets, still petting his hair. He pressed a kiss to the mark on her thigh and waited until she met his gaze again. “Has a man ever made you come, Rey?”

“Well, you just did,” she laughed, catching her breath.

“Before me,” he clarified, unbuckling his belt and sliding his trousers to the floor.

She shook her head across the sheets. “Nope. That was… wow.” 

The answer seemed to satisfy him, and he gifted her a spontaneous smile. He had moved over her body, undoing her bra and licking across her nipples, tossing the bra aside. “Do you want me inside you?” Instead of waiting for her answer, he pressed her into the mattress with a long, deep kiss. She licked into his mouth; she could feel his erection pressing between her thighs, the breadth of him forcing her legs further apart. He broke the kiss, rubbing his cock through her wetness, teasing her clit and working her back up. Rey raised up on her elbows to chase a kiss, which he freely gave, and when he broke away again, she looked down at him sliding between her legs. He looked nothing like that boys she’d had before, as big as she’d expect for a man his size. “You’re so tight, Rey. Do you want me inside?”

She whimpered and let herself fall back against a pillow. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I do.”

Kylo lifted himself off her and slid off the bed. Rey watched as he fished his suit jacket off the floor and dug around in the pocket for his wallet. He extracted a condom packet with two fingers and then rejoined her on the bed, kneeling between her legs. She watched him roll the condom down the length of him and licked her lips. He settled over her again, kissed her deeply and resumed the wonderful rubbing across her clit. The tension started building again, and Rey began to draw up her knees toward her chest, wanting to invite him closer and deeper. But Kylo stopped her, lowering her feet to the mattress and leaving her legs bent at the knees.

“We’ll get to that,” he said, patting her leg and motioning to her chest, “but we should start here. Not too deep.”

The first press of him against her entrance made her tense; as he’d told her, he was big and she was small. He pressed a thumb to her centre and circled, and she relaxed; he slid in further, more circles, and now another hand beneath her arse, lifting her a bit, adjusting her. As he pulled out slightly and pushed in a bit deeper, Kylo let loose a groan of approval. He eyes shone in the low light of the room and he pressed forward to kiss her again, stealing her low whine of his name. “Are you okay, Rey? Is this too much?”

The hand beneath her tailbone pulled her closer even as he spoke, dipping him further in without the need for thrusting or pushing. Rey felt… fucked, she felt like she was being fucked, wonderfully so. She did feel somewhat like she’d never done this before, because the other times… they didn’t count next to this.

“I’m good. Very good. You feel, ah, hmm, really big, and it feels very good. But I need it slow.”

Kylo nodded into her neck. “Slow for now. I’ll go slow.”

He must have bottomed out – she could feel him now just rocking against her, not pulling out. They stayed there, undulating against each other, slow and deep and Rey felt as though every sexual nerve ending she had was being stimulated all at once.

“Is this going to make you come, Rey?” His voice sounded strained and breathy and unbearably deep.

“Yes, yeah, it’s… yeah.” Rey breathed, and then he kissed her, and she opened her mouth for him to plunder as he pleased. This definitely felt like sex being done to her, and for her, rather than something she was fully participating in. But she didn’t mind; he was doing it to her rather perfectly. The hand under her tailbone started working more forcefully, and after a while, his biceps pushed against her knees, folding them up to her chest. She lay open as a flower, and he rocked harder into her for uncountable minutes. “That’s making me come, Kylo.” She flattened her hands across his shoulders, then his back, to feel his muscles working over her. She whimpered and moaned as the pleasure built with each deliberate movement. Then the dam broke.

As she reached a crescendo, Kylo started moving harder, pulling himself almost all the way out and sliding back in hard. He thrust faster and harder, his hand gone from her arse and now pushing her legs open wider.

“Damnit. Rey… you’re so beautiful. Ahhhhhhh, fuck.” He pounded into her now, and even in her relaxed state she knew he was using her to get off. With her high starting to wear off, she could feel the power of what he was doing. She dug her nails into his arse, pulling him closer.

“You come now, too, Kylo. I want to feel you coming in me,” she murmured in his ear, and he sped up before releasing a long, relieved groan as he emptied himself into the condom.

The boys she’d been with before had collapsed onto her, but Kylo held himself over her in a pseudo-plank position, biceps still straining, as he caught his breath. Then he pressed a kiss to her throat and withdrew carefully, removing the condom and throwing it into a mini wastebasket beneath his bedside table. Rey wiggled her ankles and then her toes, and she lowered her legs to the bed, stretching out like a cat.

Kylo sat for a moment on edge of the bed, watching her without a smile. Still gloriously naked, he stood and walked across the room to an elegant white cabinet. Opening one of the doors revealed a small refrigerator - Rey grinned, committing every fact about hotel rooms to her longterm memory – and he reached into the minibar and pulled out two cold bottles of sparkling water. He settled himself down on the bed, then twisted the top of one of the bottles and handed it to her. Rising up on one arm, Rey sipped at the water, thinking it too bad to be washing away the taste of his kisses on her tongue.

He rectified that immediately. Setting aside his own bottle, then plucking hers from her hand, he pressed her into the pillow with a long kiss. Long enough for her to hear crowds of people coming and going along the embankment below their window. “So?” he asked when they came up for air.

So? What was she expected to say? If there was an etiquette here, Rey didn’t know of it. Was he looking for a review, like you give a movie? Because… Five stars. Two thumbs up. _I came twice_.

“So,” she smiled slowly, near purring, “that was amazing.”

Kylo grinned at her, and it transformed his whole face. Out of his suit, on a level with her, he suddenly looked younger than her initial estimate, perhaps in his late 20’s, and all the severe angularity of his face softened into a warm sort of beauty. “Good to know,” he said, moving one hand to play with her breasts. He ducked his head and sucked on them, let his hand roam down her stomach and over her hip, then up to her arse. Rey could feel herself getting worked up once more. “What I meant was, would you like to go again? And if so, would you mind turning over onto your stomach?” He squeezed her arse as he said it, almost a nudge to turn her over. “I think you’ll like it this way,” he whispered in her ear. His hand glided over her hip and down between her legs. “I can play with you like this while I’m inside you.”

Completely convinced, Rey turned herself over and let Kylo pull her up to her hands and knees. For the next half an hour, Kylo introduced Rey to her own body and what it was capable of. She’d been wrong in thinking she’d had sex before, because the fumblings she’d endured in her teens bore no resemblance at all to this. She was glad she’d let him lead; she didn’t know what she could have added, inexperienced as she was. When in the end he hovered over her back, his forehead pressed to the back of her neck, his breathing laboured, and shouted out his final orgasm, Rey sank down and let her knees unbend and stretch out, flopping facedown into the duvet. His hips followed her descent, not pulling out quite yet.

He laughed with truncated huffs of air, kissing her spine, muttering, “Damn.” She smiled into the duvet and let him. With one hand rubbing circles along her back, she felt his fingers grasp the base of his cock to pull himself out along with the condom. And then…

“Fuck.” Not a happy ‘fuck’, like he’d been chanting on and off since they entered the hotel room. No, this was an angry fuck.

Rey turned her head on the duvet. “What’s wrong?”

Kylo lay down facing her, his hands brushing her hair off her face. “The condom broke, Rey.” She scooted up onto her forearms. “I didn’t notice… Are you on any kind of birth control?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m on the pill.”

Kylo exhaled. “That’s good. My last blood test was three months ago, but I was clean as of then. What about you?”

Rey looked incredulous. “I don’t know. I’ve never been tested.”

Kylo ran his fingers through her hair again. “You should get tested, then. I’m sure we’re fine, but it would be best.” He kept stroking her hair. “Sorry, not a fun conversation after such incredible sex.” Nice one, Cinderella, Rey sighed to herself. The bus may not have turned into a pumpkin, but now you get an STD test. Interrupting her thoughts, Kylo handed her the bottle of water again, and he helped her to sit up to drink it. “You okay?”

She yawned. “Yeah, just tired I guess. That was quite a workout.”

He snorted, adorably. “Well, the room’s paid for, and I have nowhere to be before morning. Do you want to stay?”

Rey passed a hand over the silky duvet cover; she’d stay forever and never go home again. Was that possible? “I could nap, sure.”

Kylo moved enough to free the duvet from beneath them, then pulled it over their naked bodies. “Me, too. Just a few hours of sleep.” He didn’t cuddle up to her, didn’t pull her to his body, but Rey had slept naked with another person precisely never, so she lay awake as Kylo fell asleep. She looked around the room at the ornate finials on the bedposts, the thick blue carpet, a glimpse of the pristine bathroom through the door.

The bathroom! She moved quietly, not disturbing Kylo’s slumber, and managed to close the door behind her without so much as a sound. She turned around to take in the bathroom with a stupid grin on her face: an enormous, stunningly white clawfoot tub dominated the room. She found a choice of bubble baths in adorable, tiny bottles arranged on a shelf by the shower. Bouncing on her toes, Rey filled up the bath until it bubbled and near-overflowed, then sank into the suds. She’d never had a bubble bath before, either; her studio only had a tiny shower barely big enough to turn around in, enclosed by a plastic curtain that stuck to her as she tried to wash.

She let herself sink under the surface, the hot water caressing every part of her. It soothed the slight ache between her legs; it softened the callouses on her hands from years of manual work. She popped up from the depths and found a selection of shampoo and soaps at the side of the tub. Giggling, she worked a floral shampoo through her hair, then a luscious conditioner. She soaked until she was nearly dozing off.

Kylo was still fast asleep when she returned to the bed, his features relaxed and his big body sprawled across the kingsize mattress. He grunted as she folded away a couple of his long limbs to make space for herself. This time, she had no problem falling asleep.


	3. The News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those of you who have commented and left kudos. I really appreciate it.

He was gone when she woke up, and he’d not left a note, just his business card. How romantic.

She felt a little sorry not to say goodbye, and a little insulted with the lack of goodbye from him, but also relieved. The magic night was over and Rey preferred to face reality by herself, without an awkward morning meeting with his handsome face.

The clock told her it was 7:32am, so she had plenty of time before she needed to head home and change for her shift at midday. She scooted to the middle of the bed and tried to touch her fingers and toes to the corners, then bounced on the mattress to test its springy loveliness. She found the remote for the tv, and then found the tv hidden in an elaborate cupboard. She turned on a morning news show and opened the minibar to forage for food. Which is when she noticed the room service menu. But would it charge her, or his card? Rey threw on her dress and heels and marched down to the front desk. She found the same employee from the evening before, about to leave work.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Ahh, yes. I remember you. Your man left about an hour ago.”

She shrugged. She wasn’t about to spare a second thought for a man who had left her his business card. “I was hungry, but I didn’t know if I ordered room service…” she began.

He saw her meaning immediately. “Don’t worry. That would charge to the room, to his card.”

“Right,” Rey nodded. “I just didn’t want to take advantage…”

The employee’s frosty attitude from last night was gone. He answered kindly: “I doubt he’ll mind, miss. He paid over £500 for the room; I’m sure some eggs and toast won’t break his bank.”

She nodded and placed her order with him, then went back up to the room to await the eggs and pastries and fruit and coffee she’d ordered. Dinner and breakfast and amazing sex in between. Rey needed to write Mrs. Amata a thank-you card.

She spent the bus ride home sniffing her own hair, now blow-dried and styled with a complimentary brush that the front desk provided for her, and patting her full stomach. When she climbed the two flights of stairs to her room, Rey looked around her delipidated studio with a world-weary sigh. She dug into her handbag for the little bottle she’d taken from the hotel room: Jasmine Foaming Bath Essence. Rey put the little glass bottle onto the bookshelf above her sofabed. One day, she promised herself, she would make enough money to have a flat with a beautiful bathtub, and she’d save that little bottle for her very first bath.

Then she changed out of her party dress and into her old clothes for work, and promptly forgot all about Kylo Ren and his big, soulful eyes and his soft, attentive mouth.

>>> 

Rey managed to float along on remembered glamour for roughly 24 hours, before she was hit with a murderous bout of stomach flu. Unkar Plutt had no sympathy for illness. So one day after her magical evening out, Rey struggled through her Saturday shift, unable to eat or keep anything down. She’d vomited all morning. Still, she couldn’t afford to miss a shift, so she cleaned up and got back underneath the Audi and completed the oil change.

She was ill all evening as well, and all of Sunday. But sleeping all the way through her day off on Monday set her right.

By the time she’d recovered, she could no longer remember the feeling of Kylo’s lips on her skin, or the whiskey-taste of his kisses.

>>>

It took her until the end of summer to devote one of her precious Mondays to getting herself tested at the clinic, as Kylo had suggested. She had only moved to London two weeks before she’d met him, and hadn’t registered with a GP or told the NHS her new address. Now she felt all grown up, doing a bit of personal admin and sorting her healthcare out.

Rey had not met anyone else in the meantime, but the whole experience of that night had opened her eyes to the pleasures of sex, and she wanted to start looking. Kylo had made her feel safe and important, which meant that such men existed and all the shitty men she’d met were not the only kind out there. But first, a test to say she was ‘clean’ seemed a sensible precaution. Kylo probably picked up women every week, or even every night, and swept them off to fancy hotel rooms.

“Rey Smith?” The nurse waved her over from her slump on a plastic seat in the waiting room. She hated people announcing her last name in public: the cold, anodyne name chosen for her by Social Services when she was an infant.

“That’s me,” she called back, gathering up her backpack. She sat in front of the nurse, not allowing herself to fidget.

The nurse had the unreadable expression of a professional. “Good news: you’re all clear. No sign of any STDs. But as we discussed, we do a full blood screening, so we have picked up some anaemia. That’s a lack of iron.” The nurse pushed a paper toward her. “Here’s a list of iron-rich foods to include daily in your diet, and a prescription for iron pills, just for a few weeks.”

Rey nodded with a smile, relieved at the results, even if she hadn’t really expected anything to be wrong. She studied the leaflet and tucked the prescription into her backpack.

“And I need to inform you that you are pregnant.” Rey felt her heart stutter still in shock. The nurse repeated the news slowly, then: “You didn’t know, I take it?”

She shook her head cautiously back and forth, and just kept shaking it. Pregnant? She took those pills religiously, never missed one. Not even when she’d been so sick last month.

Oh.

She’d been really sick. She might have thrown up the pill. She might have done it more than once.

The nurse reached out and patted Rey’s hand. “Listen, I’m going to book you in with the midwife right now. There’s one at the practice. We’ll make you an appointment, and you can talk it all through with her, okay? Here, there’s a cancellation tomorrow morning. Can you make it in for 9am?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded far away. Her shift started at 11 tomorrow, that she knew. But every other fact of her life seemed thrown into turmoil. 

Rey, who had mostly purged Kylo from her brain, could suddenly remember his business card lying on his pillow instead of him the morning after.

“You seem quite shaken. Is there anyone I can call?”

Oh. God. A baby. In just months, she would be having a baby. She’d never even held a baby, never even had parents of her own to know what parenting looked like. How in the hell was she supposed to do this?

“No,” Rey answered quietly. “There isn’t anyone at all.”


	4. The Office

Kylo Ren. Partner. First Order. A phone number. An address. An address she was currently standing in front of, though on the opposite side of the street. She worried his card between her fingers, squinting at the entrance to his building through the September sunshine. Glass and steel, modern, shiny, stylish. She was wearing the blue shirtdress this time, and though it was the most appropriate thing in her wardrobe, it would look hopelessly shabby walking through the marble of the lobby.

He hadn’t even written down his personal mobile number on the back of the card.

Which proved that he didn’t want anything else to do with her.

And he certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with this baby. But want had nothing to do with it, she reminded herself. She only required a monthly child maintenance payment and she’d do the rest herself. Rey had budgeted and re-budgeted and looked into every type of government support she might qualify for, but she didn’t see how she’d manage without a bit of extra money. And why shouldn’t the father provide it?

Rey watched the rotating glass doors and debated with herself. Maybe he would help her or take an interest. Maybe she should do this for the baby, because he or she had a right to know his or her father. Maybe Kylo had a right to know that he was a father.

But her fear was winning out. He was a lawyer, he was powerful, he had money and resources and contacts and lawyers of his own. All of those things scared her. If he wanted to take her baby away from her, he probably could. Maybe there was a way for him to legally force her to give the baby up for adoption? She’d die before she let the same child services that had failed her get hold of her own child. How could she fight back against him? A single court date would cost more than she made in a week, maybe more.

Help would begreat. But not if it came at such a high price. She took a step back, thinking which bus stop would be closest for her getaway, when a snarky voice stopped her cold.

“Damn. If it isn’t the mechanic.” Oh, shit. This was worse than Kylo spotting her. She looked up to find Hux smirking at her. “Christ, is Kylo still fucking you? I thought the slumming was a passing phase, nothing more.” He looked her up and down in a way that obviously found her wanting, but Rey had dealt with being a disappointment since her childhood, and his disapproval only made her draw herself up straighter. She slipped the card into her pocket before he could spot it. “His lapses in judgement are getting younger, too,” he sneered.

“Hux,” she said, tilting her head and levelling him a cold smile. “Does he still let you ride shotgun when he’s not got someone more important to put in the passenger seat?”

“Why are you here anyway? He hasn’t mentioned you since the Amata Tyres party.” His gaze seemed to burn through her. “Were you hoping for a repeat performance from him? I can’t imagine that he called you. Even Kylo has standards.”

Punching him is not an option, Rey, she told herself. Take the high road. “Charming,” she deadpanned instead. “And I’m not here to meet Kylo.”

Hux seemed to have lost interest in her and had begun scrolling through her phone. “Wait. Let’s call him and see…”

But Rey had turned on her trusty black heels and was walking rounding the corner to the bus stop, ignoring Hux’s taunts. She would do without Kylo Ren and his snotty friends. After all, she’d had no parents at all, and this baby would at least have a mother that loved him or her. She would be enough.

>>> 

The entire floor had been cleared, every last clerk and administrative assistant had made for the stairs and the lifts, as soon as Kylo’s voice started to rise and echo through the glass wall of the conference room. It was nearing 7pm anyway, and everyone decided as one that it was time to head home; things broke when their boss was this angry, and no one wanted to clean up shattered glass on a Friday night.

Kylo did break a glass, and the laptop screen that he’d thrown it at, but he only did it after Snoke had hung up. Kylo was, first and foremost, a lawyer, and he could foresee the consequences of every bad move Snoke made: no amount of legal intimidation would wash away the old man’s latest rampage. With no alternative, Kylo was going to have to arrange a hit on three witnesses to avoid any of this ending up before a court. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the image of every person he’d had killed – the list was getting disturbingly long, even if they had all been involved in Snoke’s criminal operations.

Worse still, Hux was sitting across the conference room with his legs crossed, calmly watching Kylo rage. He’d task Hux with contacting Phasma with the three names, just as revenge for looking so smug.

“Have you taken the Jag in for a service?” Hux asked nonchalantly, apropos of nothing Kylo could think of.

“What?”

“The Jag. You said you were going to take it in for a service. With the little mechanic.” Hux’s face was on full smirk.

“What the actual fuck does the Jag’s oil change have to do with anything?”

Hux leaned forward. “Nothing. Just that I ran into your mechanic a few days ago. Outside our offices.” He shrugged. “She said she hadn’t been to see you, though, so might have just been a coincidence. Plenty of reasons she might have been in the City.” 

Kylo just stared at him, his face blank, not about to give away any emotion to Hux. Any emotional attachment was a potential weapon to be used against him, and he would never knowingly hand Hux the ammunition. 

“I just thought, ya know, this level of frustration,” Hux waved his hand towards the broken laptop, “that you could fuck it out with someone. Someone insignificant but willing.”

“Get out,” Kylo barked. “No, call Phasma to sort this shit out, then get out.” He shoved open the conference room door and marched back to his office. He opened his work computer to double check that no emails, searches, messages, letters or any or any other communication existed anywhere that might tie him to the three drug dealers that Phasma would take out.

He’d had the website of Plutt’s garage open on his browser for the last two months, daily arguing with himself over whether to call. He could book in the Jag for a service, even though he never took it anywhere other than the dealership for servicing. It was a legitimate chore that needed doing; it didn’t mean he wanted to see her again.

But he did want to see her again. And for this precise reason, Kylo never called. Even if after today, after that shitty phone call with Snoke, he knew he’d never have her. He still wanted her: the beautiful, brave, clever woman who had gone to a high-level networking reception all by herself in cheap shoes and stolen his breath away.

Kylo could recall every detail of Rey’s body. And from the little they’d spoken, he recognised that she had no family, a tough upbringing. But she still seemed so full of curiosity, full of life.

And Kylo would not be the one to destroy it.

Kylo hit the intercom even though he couldn’t see any of his employees anywhere. He was pleased that they knew well enough to leave, but he suspected that Finn would have crept back to his post now that the storm had passed.

“Mr Ren?” Finn answered, as though nothing had happened.

“Finn, you check out that garage I asked you about?”

“Yes, of course, Mr Ren. Give me a minute to find the photos, I’ll be right in.”

Sweating slightly, Finn was sitting in the chair in front of Kylo’s desk thirty seconds later. He looked a little rumpled, he usually did, but he worked incredibly hard and did exactly as Kylo asked.

“You were right about Unkar Plutt – he is the lowest of the low. He was trafficking girls for Snoke a decade ago – I think the garage is some sort of retirement package.” The disgust was obvious in Finn’s voice. “He spends about half his day harassing the living hell out of the only female mechanic at the shop. She’s a saint.”

Kylo picked up the photos – printed as he preferred, taken on a disposal camera with no digital trail.

“You were right about the cash payments - he's skimming money and storing it, honest to God, behind the counter in his office,” Finn explained each one. “That’s him threatening one of our suppliers when the kickback was too small for his taste… and that’s him grabbing the thigh of the girl mechanic I was telling you about.”

Flexing a fist beneath his desk, Kylo tried to keep his emotions off his face. “Unctuous, indeed. Listen,” Kylo fished in his jacket pocket, then tossed Finn his car keys, “take the Jag in there for a service. Make sure the girl does the work. What’s her name?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” Finn replied, pocketing the keys.

“Wait while the service is done. And watch her – watch how Plutt is with her. Report to me when you’re done.”

“I’ll take it in tomorrow morning, Mr Ren.”

Kylo knew he couldn’t risk contacting Rey again – that would show interest, which Hux already suspected. But he hated the thought of her working for Plutt; she had seemed honest and hardworking, and he knew exactly how young and inexperienced she was. He couldn't call her, no, but he could try to make her life a little easier.


	5. The Garage

The sickness hit her less than a week later, and it hit hard. Rey felt so tired that she could barely move; the midwife assured her that all was normal, and she handed Rey a note to her employer explaining that she would need time off for medical reasons. The moment she left the surgery, Rey crumpled the note in an angry ball and tossed in a rubbish bin. If she didn’t work, she’d be on the streets as soon as her landlord could evict her.

Perversely, Rey looking pale and weak only made Plutt more likely to leer at her. Her breasts already fell swollen and tender, and it felt as though the extra weight of his stare seemed to add to the discomfort. Her baggy coveralls would keep her secret for another few months, but her frequent trips to the alleyway to throw up were going to give her away if she wasn’t careful. She wouldn’t be able to handle overtime anymore, so that night she had to sit down and revise her budget estimates downwards.

In a perverse coincidence, Kylo chose that week to send in his Jag. With his assistant. That kind of stung.

“Hi, I’m Finn,” he’d introduced himself to her with a sunny smile. “And you’re…”

“Rey,” she’d told him brusquely. That arsehole hadn’t even remembered her name to tell the assistant who to ask for? Fuck him. And his stupid expensive car. That smelled of his cologne when she popped her head in to write down the mileage.

“Great, Mr Plutt said that you were to work on Mr Ren’s car?” Finn was holding a disposable coffee cup, an enormous one, one that filled her fuzzy head with the smell of roasted… oh, God, she really couldn’t stand the smell of coffee anymore.

“Certainly, Finn, umm… just wait a moment and I’ll get started, ok?” She pointed hastily towards a few plastic chairs in a waiting area. “Just gotta…” And with that she raced off to the now-familiar skip in the alleyway behind the shop to empty her already-empty stomach of the water that she’d managed to keep down for 15 minutes.

She dragged herself back into the shop and set about an oil and filter change for the Jag. Finn wandered over periodically to engage her in pointless conversation, his open, smiling face only reminding her that Kylo couldn’t be arsed to show up himself. The smell of the coolant when she topped it up sent her back to the alleyway, as did the wiper fluid after that. She kept her water bottle close and took small sips whenever possible, as the midwife had recommended. Of course, the midwife thought that she was signed off work, not crawling under cars six days a week.

Unkar chose that morning to shadow her closely, perhaps intrigued at the high-end car in his decidedly low-end garage. It meant that Rey had two men looking over her shoulder, though at least Finn wasn’t also trying to look down her t-shirt. When she was leaning over to check the state of the (pristine) hoses and belts, Plutt set his greasy paw on her back, as though overseeing her work, and then let the hand slide down and grab a fistful of her arse. Rey nearly banged her head on the bonnet in jumping out of his way.

She did not need this. She was barely awake and sick as a dog.

Finally, she handed the keys back to Finn with a weak smile and waved to him as he backed Kylo’s car out of the garage. He seemed a genuinely nice man, she supposed, and it was a shame that he was connected to Kylo.

Three hours later, she near-crawled up the stairs to her flat, so tired that she couldn’t even make herself a cup of tea before she face-planted into the sofabed and fell asleep.

>>> 

“Is she ill?” Kylo asked, trying to sound merely curious.

“The girl? Yeah, I think she was. She looked ill – really pale and exhausted. Probably just a hangover,” Finn shrugged. “She kept taking short breaks to run to the back of the shop – I assume to the loo. But that didn’t stop Plutt from grabbing her arse.”

Finn flipped to the next photograph. Rey’s face was obscured by the bonnet of the Jag, but Plutt’s hand on her arse was clear as a sexual assault filing. He tamped down his fury, not wanting to share with Finn that he was interested in Rey rather than Plutt.

“He’s a real bastard to her, lots of sexual taunts. And she’s this tiny, skinny thing swimming in her coveralls, trying to work.” Finn looked disgusted at the memory. “But I didn’t see anything to tie him to current trafficking, and I had a rifle through his papers in his office. He’s running some illegal betting and taking payments from a number of pimps. He’s also underreporting profit to Giovanni and skimming any cash payments, as we discussed before.”

“Thank you, Finn, that’s all for now. But I want you to keep looking; Plutt’s got to be involved in worse than theft, it’s in his sick nature. And I’ll file these photos.” The moment Finn had left, he fed the pictures into the shredder, lingering over a shot of Rey studying the oil gauge, her fingers curled over the stick, her big eyes focussed on her work, a tendril of hair straying across her forehead. He allowed himself a long, last glance, then fed her picture into the shredder, too.

Plutt had to go. He could use Phasma again, but she’d been busy with those hits for Snoke. He dug into the bottom drawer of his desk for a moleskin notebook and flicked through the pages until he found the pseudonym of the most obscure man he could hire: Boba Fett.

>>> 

As she sat in the midwife’s office on Monday morning, Rey tried to recall the luxurious scent of Kylo’s driver’s seat from two weeks back. Where most smells seemed to repel her lately, his had been strangely soothing. Whenever she felt the nausea clawing at her, she tried to imagine herself in the driver’s seat of the Jag, inhaling deeply.

She sipped at a paper cup of water the midwife had given her while she waited for the results of her urine test. The midwife had also left her with a few papers to fill out, and she was currently staring at the box marked ‘Father’. Rey considered leaving it blank, after all, there were surely women who didn’t know, or wouldn’t say. But then she thought, what if something happened to her? As much as Kylo didn’t have any interest in her, perhaps he would have enough sense of responsibility to keep their child out of the foster system. In the event of her death, the NHS could find him and tell him about the baby.

She pulled out his business card from her purse and wrote down his name and work address and the main phone number.

Then she scratched a ‘non-applicable’ through the family history section.

The midwife slid back into her seat across from Rey and frowned at the results in front of her. “How often are you being sick, Rey? Like, how many times each day?”

“Umm… maybe four or five? Sometimes more.”

“And you reported feeling tired… I mean, tired is normal at this stage, but you said you’re finding it hard to cook dinner in the evening?”

She nodded and the nurse typed Rey’s answers into the computer. “And you’re off work? So you’re getting enough rest?”

Rey decided to dodge the question. “I fall asleep about 7pm every night – I just can’t stay awake any later recently - and get up at 8. So I’m getting more than 12 hours of sleep each night. It still doesn’t feel like enough, though.”

“Hmm. There are ketones present in your urine, and even though you aren’t dehydrated, you have lost weight. I am worried that this might be hyperemesis gravidarum, Rey,” she said sympathetically.

“What’s that?” Rey felt her arms involuntarily wrapping around her middle.

“A very severe form of morning sickness, essentially,” she explained, pushing a leaflet across the desk. “I’ll need you to check in with us every Monday, okay? We can keep an eye on your weight and hydration. I don’t want you to worry about the baby; generally, this makes you feel rotten, but the baby is gaining weight normally. But we need to stay on top of this, Rey. It is incredibly important that you not dehydrate and that your electrolyte balance stays normal.”

Rey nodded along with the list of instructions and vitamins and supplements and screenings that would be needed.

She wasted even more hydration by crying all the way home.


	6. The Supermarket

At the tail end of November - when the cold was truly beginning to bite and the short days meant that she had to walk both to and from work in the dark – Rey took to admiring the early Christmas displays in all the shops. The darkness was filled with fairy lights and coloured bulbs and glitter, so the otherwise starkly functional main road looked almost cheerful. Rotten as she felt, the displays perked her up a bit, and Rey decided to try and set aside a little money and buy a Christmas present for the baby. Maybe an ornament? By the time the child was old enough to notice such things, Rey would be sure to have a tree with pretty packages underneath, and she could buy some special ornament each year. She daydreamed their Christmases future, mindless of puddles and grumpy commuters, all the way to Plutt’s garage.

Only today Plutt was not at his usual place, plonked on his ample backside behind the counter by the entrance. He wasn’t in the locker room, trying to hide in the entrance to the toilets and catch a glimpse of her changing into her coveralls (she never understood this; she only put the coveralls on over the clothing she was wearing, thus she was no more undressed than when she entered the place).

No one else seemed to know where he was, either. But the day’s schedule was already fairly set, and Rey set about her day, alternating working on a half-dead VW Bug and throwing up in the alley. The confusion around Plutt’s absence forced her to stay late, unpaid, to finish a tyre rotation from some lecherous old man who seemed to take as much pleasure in ogling her as Plutt himself did. By the time she ended her shift, Rey’s inside were at full-on war, both nauseous and ravenous.

She needed to eat. Rey knew that she needed to eat. The midwife had suggested wandering through a supermarket to see what caught her interest; it might be food that she hadn’t considered. On her way home, Rey stopped into the discount supermarket and set off on her familiar rounds on the fruit and vegetable section. Something did catch her attention: blueberries. However, blueberries cost £2.99 for a small box. Blueberries were not in her budget.

Raspberries smelled just as inviting, and they were just as expensive.

Instead, she bought apples, which she mostly could keep down. And broccoli, which she’d taken a liking to raw. And dry crackers, with mixed success. And tinned chicken soup, which was cheap and had protein and she could stomach in the mornings before work.

Her budget was grim. She’d given up her phone contract and sold her phone for (not much) cash. She’d given up on buses and was walking the three kilometres to work and the same distance back. She put extra coins into the tins marked ‘gas’ and ‘electricity’ as the days grew shorter. She tried to save enough to pay her rent up front when the baby came and she couldn’t work for a while, but even with housing benefit it would be tight. She put all the phone money into the tins marked ‘nappies’ and ‘cot’.

She’d spent one of her Mondays sorting out every sort of government support she could find; she knew Plutt would sack her rather than pay her maternity leave, and she didn’t have the money or energy to fight him. But with bits of support here and there, she should be okay. Just.

She felt weaker every day. Yesterday it had taken her five full minutes to climb each flight of stairs at the end of the day, as she was so exhausted that she had to keep stopping to rest.

Still, she had lost only 3kg of her pre-pregnancy weight and the midwives at the surgery were pleased with her compliance. She’d made it to 20 weeks now - halfway there, the lovely midwife had cheered her on - and she kept the little print out from her first scan in her backpack, to use as motivation whenever she wanted to collapse.

No one had referred her to social services. Yet.

Her backpack filled with apples and broccoli and soup, Rey trudged along Holloway to her estate. She had her trusty water bottle in her hand, and she stopped every so often to take a breather and a drink. Stay hydrated, she kept telling herself.

She was showing, just a little. She could see the swell when she looked in her bathroom mirror before a shower, but in bulky clothes it was still unnoticeable. She’d found a man’s wool coat, dark green, in a charity shop last week, and it would fit over her bump all through winter, she thought. The shoulders slid off her a bit even buttoned all the way up, but she wound a thick scarf around the collar to hold the whole thing together. The woman who ran the shop had given it to her for free, which Rey knew meant she looked pathetic, but she was grateful for anyway.

About 200 metres from home, the nausea overtook her. She stopped walking to rest – that often helped – and clung on to the wrought iron railings at the side of the road. She felt dizzy, so she sat down on the thin concrete ledge at the base of the railings, slipping her backpack off her shoulders and onto the ground.

The white spots before her eyes were something new, though, and she could feel herself tilting over, resting her cheek against the ledge. She could see the legs of fellow commuters stop their scurrying back-and-forth, standing still in front of her, then approaching. A woman’s voice, a child’s… and she closed her eyes, tipping forward onto the wet pavement.

>>> 

Carrying his gym bag over his shoulder, Kylo passed by Finn’s desk on the way out of his office that evening. He was about to encourage Finn – currently mid-phone call - to leave for the night, when his assistant held up one finger and turned to him, motioning him to stop.

“Just a moment, please. He’s right here.” Finn put the caller on hold and looked up at Kylo, a bit spooked. “Take this one in your office, Mr Ren.”

Kylo raised an eyebrow at him, but sighed and headed back into his office, noting that Finn pulled the office door shut behind him as he entered. He picked up the phone and nearly punched the blinking line, cursing his inability to ever leave the damn office without incident. “Ren here.”

“Good afternoon. Is this Kylo Ren?” A woman’s voice, professional and detached.

“Yes, that’s why I led with ‘Ren’,” he snapped.

“Mr Ren, I’m calling from The Whittington Hospital.” Fuck. His Dad? Please let it be him, not his Mum. He might not be on speaking terms with either of them, but if it had to be one of them… “I’m calling about Ms Rey Smith. She was brought in earlier this evening, and she doesn’t have any emergency contact listed on her booking forms, so we’ve rung you.”

“Rey?” He adjusted his worries. He immediately conjured an image of Rey, bright and beautiful in her red lipstick and floaty dress, a spark in her eyes as she looked up at him. “Rey’s in hospital? But why are you calling me?”

“As I’ve said, there is no emergency contact listed. We’re calling because you’re listed as ‘father’ on her booking forms,” the voice replied.

“What?” he was utterly confused. “She listed me as her father?”

The nurse on the other end of the phone actually laughed. “No! Of course not. She listed you as the baby’s father.”

“The _baby_?” he hissed, remembering to keep his voice down. Thank God for Finn’s precaution with the door; he did not want anyone overhearing this. “What baby?”

The laughter ceased. The nurse continued more gently: “Mr Ren, I am sorry to have you find out like this. Ms Smith is five months pregnant, and she has listed you as the father.”


	7. The Hospital

Kylo stopped breathing. “Five months… The father?” he asked, his voice incredulous. Then, more collected: “Is she all right?”

“Mr Ren, I am not able to discuss their condition over the phone. Would you be able to come to the hospital?”

He was already patting down his pockets for his keys and wallet and mobile phone. “Yes, I’m on my way. The Whittingdon? Is she in A&E?”

“Yes, just come to A&E, if she’s been moved to a ward, we’ll let you know.” The nurse sounded satisfied now that he’d agreed to come.

He hung up and stood utterly still for long moment. Think, he told himself. He took his phone from his pocket and dropped it in the top desk drawer, then walked out of the office at a leisurely pace and stopped at Finn’s desk. “I need to go out. Can you please come up with an excuse? Invent a meeting, text me with the cover story, one that covers tomorrow morning as well.”

“Certainly, Mr Ren.”

By the time he’d stumbled to the parking garage and fumbled open the door to the Jag, Kylo was starting to hyperventilate. Never before, even when quite literally looking down the barrel of a gun, had he felt panic overwhelm him the way it did now. And he didn’t know what was worse: the shock of being told he was a father, or the uncertainty of knowing if his alleged child and the sunny, intriguing woman he’d dreamt of almost every night for months were alive or dying.

Kylo couldn’t focus on the uncertainty, so he decided to focus on paternity.

Hold up, now. He’d slept with this woman once, and fair enough the condom had broken, but she’d claimed to be on birth control. If that was true, the likelihood of her being pregnant was practically nil.

But she was pregnant. That was an incontrovertible fact.

Thus she was either lying about the pill, or something went wrong with it. And five months lined up with the night of that party, also true, but she could have had sex with any number of other men. He didn’t truly believe that she had: she’d been endearingly inexperienced, not even knowing what to ask for, but it wasn’t as though he knew much about her.

He pulled the car into a parking garage about a mile from the hospital, locked it and secured the key to a magnet under the wheel rim. He left his wallet in the car, taking only the cash he’d had on hand, and then wandered into the adjoining office building and took the lift to the 6th floor. He waited for 10 minutes, then descended the emergency stairs back to the ground floor and made for the hospital.

She had been moved to a ward by the time he arrived and announced himself to the nurse at the information desk. The nurse directed him through a warren of sanitised hallways and basement passages that eventually ended at a small, 6-bed ward. Only one other bed was occupied, by an elderly woman who was unconscious.

Rey looked like half the girl he’d met, paler than the white sheets she lay asleep on, her bones clearly visible at her collar and in her arms and legs. She had a small baby bump, though, in stark contrast to her underweight body. Her exposed feet were tinged blue with cold. Even asleep, she had dark circles under her eyes that spoke of being pushed well past her limit. The light blue hospital gown seemed to bleach her out even further.

Kylo grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed and arranged it over her feet and legs, taking her hands in his to check the temperature. She felt like she’d been set out in the rain to slowly freeze. He pushed back her long hair from her face and arranged it behind her head; she didn’t wake or respond in any way.

A nurse rounded the corner into the ward and pulled up sharpish when she spotted him.

“Who are you?” she challenged immediately.

“Fortunately not anyone who means her harm, but fuck knows I could have, for all the security there is for an unconscious woman,” Kylo flung at her. “And she’s lying here without even a blanket, freezing cold.”

“You’ll watch your language, young man.” The nurse narrowed her eyes and then held up the item in her arms – an electric blanket. She continued to Rey’s side, giving Kylo a suspicious once-over. She plugged in the blanket and ensured that it was properly warm before tucking it around Rey’s body from neck to toes.

“Are you the boyfriend then?”

“No,” he retorted, not elaborating. “Not the boyfriend.”

“Right,” she threw him a disgusted look. “But you’re the father of the baby.”

“Allegedly,” he answered.

“Right.” Her look only grew darker. “And you haven’t seen her in a while?”

Kylo had the good sense to look ashamed at this. “No. I had no idea she was pregnant until the hospital rang today.”

The woman didn’t soften, exactly, but she seemed less pissed off. “Since you aren’t the boyfriend, I can’t give you any details about her condition. The baby, though, is doing well. Here,” she plucked a stethoscope from an instrument table in the hallway, placed the diaphragm low on Rey’s belly, and handed him the earpieces. He popped them in and listened.

“That fast pitter-patter is the baby’s heartbeat,” she explained. “She’s 20 weeks gone, so your child is a little under the size of a 30cm ruler from head to toe right now.” Kylo didn’t know when he’d started stroking Rey’s hair, but he suddenly realised that he had. “I know she looks like she’s been through the wars, but the little one is growing just as it should.”

The baby’s heartbeat was racing away, loud and clear, while the softer, duller thud of Rey’s heartbeat was a slow echo in the background.

“Will Rey be all right? She seems too thin.”

The nurse did visibly soften this time. “I’m sorry, I can’t discuss her condition. She was brought in by ambulance this evening, and I can only say that we’ve done a scan and the baby is growing as expected.” She nodded to worn armchair two beds away. “Feel free to drag that over and stay a while, though. Do you happen to know of any family or friends that we could call for her?”

Kylo looked at Rey, hooked up to a drip and unmoving in a lonely hospital bed. “I don’t know her family or friends,” he said, finally. “But I’ll stay a bit.”

The nurse checked Rey’s blood pressure and entered the numbers into a tablet with a frown. Then, promising to return in half an hour, she left.

Kylo sat in a too-low chair at the side of Rey’s bed and reached out to hold her hand beneath the warm blanket. It was still chilled, but not as icy as before; he stroked the back of her hand, staring blankly at the small swell of her belly under the blanket. The minutes ticked by and Rey slept on, oblivious to his hand on hers, so he felt safe experimenting a little: lacing their fingers together, running his fingertips lightly over her palm. 

Why the hell was she thinner now than she had been the night they met 5 months ago? It’s not that he’d spent the hour since that phone call imagining what she’d look like pregnant with his child, but if he were forced to consider such a scenario, then he’d imagined a curvaceous, plump roundness. Rey looked vaguely skeletal.

Finn had suspected she was hungover when he took the car in… Christ, had she been _drinking_ while carrying his child? Suddenly furious, he tried to find evidence of her guilt in her unconscious face. She was too young, too naïve, too irresponsible to raise his child…

He caught himself thinking of the child as his. Which he had no proof of whatsoever. He would obviously deny any connection to the baby, he decided, but at the same time his traitorous hand slipped out of Rey’s and moved across her body, settling on her bump. Afraid she’d wake, he rested his fingers lightly against her tummy at first, then spread his hand across the whole of her belly. His splayed fingers covered the whole the small bump.

He waited, holding his breath, not sure what he was waiting for. To feel something? Movement? A connection?

Rey snuffled in her sleep and shifted, and Kylo snatched his hand back and remembered what had to be done, the real purpose of his race to the hospital. He walked around the nurse’s station, which at this time of night was thankfully empty while the nurses were doing rounds. He found Rey’s file in a neat stack at the left of the desk and quickly pulled out the paperwork – he found the copy of her booking form, the one where she had listed him as the father. Blessing the NHS for its antiquated love of paper over digital, he tore away the page and stuffed it in his pocket, returning the rest of the pages to her folder.

He could pay someone trustworthy to hack into her medical records later that night and expunge any mention of him. Even if the baby truly was his – especially if it was – there couldn’t be any trace whatsoever of that fact.

He could hear the nurse conversing with another patient down the corridor as he slipped back to his spot next to Rey’s bed. In the quiet, he continued studying her. Idly, he picked up the backpack that was tucked into a cubby by her bed: most of it was taken up with groceries – a few apples, some soup and veg. A scratchy wool scarf was balled up beneath the tins of soup. She had a lanyard from the garage with her name and photo. A set of keys, no doubt to her flat.

He jumped to his feet and ran to a whiteboard in the corridor with a plethora of notices stuck to it, and quickly and methodically picked them off the board, pulling the Blue Tack off the corners until he had a sizeable ball of it. He pressed the keys into the flattened ball, taking an impression of both front and back. Tucking them back into her bag, he pulled out her wallet. It held a bit of cash, an Oyster Card and precisely one business card - his.

He removed the card and twirled it around in his fingers – she’d not written anything on it, but it looked worn, like she’d held it, handled it. He didn’t know what had possessed him to leave that behind; it was foolish, a connection that he never should have made. With a sigh, he secreted it into his coat pocket along with the Blue Tack.

Then he spotted the last item in her wallet, hidden behind a lone £5 note. It was a little bigger than a passport photo, and Kylo had to turn it over several times before he realised what he was looking at.

A photograph of an ultrasound.

The picture was clear and sharp, only difficult to make out in that he wasn’t used to trying to distinguish the shapes. He squinted in the low light of the ward, and before long he could identify the baby’s form – its head, curved spine, its feet and every toe, its hands and every finger. Kylo swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand; he committed this image to his prodigious memory. Then he secured it carefully in her wallet and dropped the wallet back into her bag.

He checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes had passed, and he needed to leave before the nurse returned. He rested his hand once more across her belly and stroked his other across her cheek. Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Be well, Rey,” he whispered into her hair. “Take care of the little one.” And he left.


	8. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for the comments and kudos. They really keep me motivated!

Finn hauled the box up the five flights of stairs from the back door. It contained the entire contents of Plutt’s safe, and his boss had sent him a coded message telling him to meet at their unlisted office to go through the man’s business in forensic detail. He found the door to the office unlocked, and Kylo already sprawled in the empty space, his back against a wall and one desk lamp on the floor switched on.

“Sorry to call you so late, Finn, but it’s urgent. We need to find out quickly what laws Plutt was breaking, and I need to confront Hux with it. I’ve got maybe 24 hours, possibly less.” Kylo looked like death. Three hours ago, he’d been headed to the gym when the phone call came in, and now he looked both desperate and ill.

“How was the hospital, Mr Ren?” Kylo snapped his eyes up to Finn.

“We don’t discuss the hospital or the patient, Finn, not ever. But thank you for the cover story.”

Finn tipped the contents of the box onto the bare, grey carpet. “I take it we need more than skimming profits?”

“Considerably more, yes.” Kylo took the laptop from the pile and fired it up. “No password protection. That’s going to help.”

Finn dumped out the box of papers onto the floor of the rented office space. Plutt had no system of organisation that Finn could decipher; papers were thrown into the safe as they arrived, receipts, bills, scraps of paper with names and numbers. If HMRC chose to audit the Unkar Plutt’s business, it could destabilise and implicate at least three others that Hux oversaw.

He sorted through each scrap of paper meticulously, tossing anything of interest onto the empty stretch of carpet between himself and Kylo, who was tapping, reading, tapping, reading, absorbed in the contents of the laptop.

Just as 2am was drawing near, Kylo finally leaned back with a sharp exhale. “Got him,” Kylo whispered. “Here,” he turned the laptop to Finn, “payments to the Hutt family. Plutt was washing the money through the garage for Hux.”

Finn whistled. “That garage is part of Giovanni’s network, and Amata Tyres is supposed to be clean.”

“Amata Tyres is supposed to be pristine, the thing we hand to HMRC when they come to look at our client base,” Kylo nodded, sending himself screenshots of Plutt’s accounting.

“I take it you want a meeting with Hux?”

“You know,” Kylo grinned, tired but pleased, “I do. Set it for two days’ time so I can smooth this all over with Giovanni and Snoke.” He snapped shut the laptop and dropped it into his messenger bag. “Store those papers somewhere secure. And check out the the new manager that Hux put in place at the garage. I want to keep a closer eye on what’s going on there.”

Finn had been looking for an opportunity to do just that; he'd liked the girl with the big eyes, something about her was warm and kind. He’d not admitted to Kylo how much he knew, but the nurse on the phone had mentioned the girl’s name when asking for the boss. “Certainly, Mr Ren. I’ll do that first thing.”

>>> 

When the consultant released her two days later, feeling much stronger and better-rested than she had in weeks, the instructions were clear: she needed to sign off work until the sickness lifted. And if it didn’t lift, she’d need to be signed off until the baby was born. They provided her with the proper letters and forms, signed and stamped, and sent her on her way.

She didn’t even stop at home to change in her rush to the garage, so concerned was she that Plutt would have replaced her in the two days she had missed. She hadn’t even been able to call in now that her phone was in a pawn shop window. So she stumbled in, wearing the same clothes she’d passed out in, breathing heavily and panicked, looking around wildly for Plutt.

The garage seemed… odd. One of the older mechanics smiled at her as entered, looking positively pleased to see her. “Rey,” he called, motioning her over and wiping a line of grease down his orange coveralls, “where’ve you been at, girl? You’ve missed all the action.”

Spooked at the friendliness, Rey sidled over, still looking around at the others hard at work. “Action?”

“Yeah, Plutt’s dead,” Stomeroni grinned. “And it gets better.”

“He’s… dead? Oh my God, really?”

The mechanic motioned for her to sit on a wobbly plastic chair. “Someone shot him, right through his thick, ugly skull, about 50 metres from the garage the night before last. A robbery – the safe was open and empty.” 

Rey hated uncertainty. Uncertainty usually meant something worse was about to happen, and even if Plutt was an insufferable, lecherous arse, he had been paying her steadily for 5 months. He might be shitty stability, but he was stability.

“We’ve got a new boss, and he’s promised to review everyone’s pay and conditions first thing! Said it was shocking how Plutt had been underpaying.” Stomeroni was all grins. “He’s in the back. Go talk to him, Rey. Really, don’t worry,” he added, seeing the tense expression on her face.

She walked through the garage in a daze, not a bit calmed by Stomeroni’s optimism. The rest of the garage had a similarly festive hint to the air, and it seemed like everyone had been transformed for the better by Plutt’s murder. It bothered her deeply; he may have been horrible, but perhaps he had a family that depended on him or would miss him. She stopped at what had been Plutt’s office, but it was roped off with yellow police tape. She stood peering into the darkness at the back of the garage when she heard a voice beckoning her into a harshly lit, unused room.

“Come in, come in,” a sharp voice called. She hesitated for a moment to doublecheck her buttons, making sure that her oversized coat was done up to hide her belly. The man was thin and muscled, intimidating in almost military way, polished as a brass button and the complete opposite of Plutt’s blubbery slovenliness. “You,” he looked her up and down coldly, “you must be Rey Smith. And you’re rather late for work.”

Rey gripped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “I was taken ill, Mr…?”

“Datoo.”

“I was in hospital for the last two days, but I’ve come straight here and I’m ready to work. I’m completely better,” she lied earnestly.

“There’s no room for mechanics who miss work and can’t even call in to warn us. I’m afraid that was terribly unprofessional, Ms Smith.”

“I didn’t have a phone on me when I was taken to hospital. By ambulance,” she began. She could not lose this job. She could not. “I was unconscious for the first twelve hours…”

“You’re very young, Ms Smith,” Datoo continued. “Simply too immature to hold down a job like this.”

“I’m a good mechanic,” she tried. 

Datoo leaned back in his chair, unimpressed and unmoved, his face cast in shadow from the uneven light. “I believe you know Mr Hux?”

Rey scrunched up her brow in confusion. How could this man know about a chance meeting that happened months ago? “I have met him, briefly.”

“Mr Hux brought me in as manager to fix some of the mistakes that Plutt made with this business,” he explained nodded. “Mr Hux remembers you and no mistake.”

Rey sucked in a breath. Kylo. Kylo ordering Hux out of the car, humiliating him so that Kylo could bang some nobody from a shitty garage in a shitty part of town. And so Hux thinks he’ll get back at Kylo by firing her. She sobbed out a bitter laugh: as though Kylo Ren gave half a fuck what happens to her.

She walked out of the shop in a daze, not stopping to say goodbye to Stomeroni or the others. The first place she stumbles across to sit down is a bus stop, with its half-tilted red benches meant to be too uncomfortable for anyone to rest for long. She closed her eyes as she slumped down; she knew her Oyster Card didn’t have enough money on it for a bus ride home. But what Rey needed was a moment to reflect, and what reflected on was this: that girl at the party, in her pretty dress and her best shoes, money in her pocket to cover transport and more at home for food and rent and heat. That girl had her first proper job, steady pay and training in a line of work that would see her earnings increase rapidly as she gained age and experience.

One pretty night with Kylo Ren had ruined her precariously balanced life.

>>> 

What Kylo actually wanted to do was to murder Hux. And not via Fett like he’d gotten rid of Plutt, but personally, perhaps with a knife, something lengthy and painful and torturous and final.

Hux, when presented with the evidence of what Plutt had been up to, spent at least 10 minutes trying to deny the obvious and then another five deflecting. He’d gone as red as his hair in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He was trying not to show his fear, but Kylo could sense it there, just beneath the bluster. For every argument Hux made, Finn pulled another corroborating piece of paper out of the box of Plutt’s papers.

“You… you put a hit our operative?” Hux spluttered in disbelief.

“He was not an operative, not ours or anyone’s, he was a fucking mess of a human being, he was scum. And you were risking a clean business on Plutt’s discretion? You are very bloody lucky that I have not put a hit out on you, to tie up loose ends,” Kylo maintained an air of menacing authority. “You betrayed this firm and you betrayed me, going behind my back to endanger Giovanni’s company. You betrayed Snoke.”

Hux paled, but shot back: “Like you haven’t done worse for Snoke.”

“I have never made such a stupid, impulsive mistake. No,” Kylo confirmed.

“Really?” Hux had the shit-eating grin on his face again. “Not even with the mechanic?”

Kylo made sure to look perplexed; this is where he intended to find out how much Hux knew. “What mechanic… oh my fucking God, Hux, really? Her? No, this is not about some mechanic I shagged once, half a year ago!” Kylo exploded. “This is about you laundering dirt through a clean company, which could land us all in _prison_.”

Hux deflated in front of him, like this was his last line of defence and Kylo had breached it. No, Kylo thought to himself, Hux doesn’t know about the baby, he was just being his petty, fucked self, trying to find a weakness in Kylo and imagining that the weakness was Rey. But he’d not found proof.

“I am taking back Giovanni’s business from you,” Kylo simmered. “I will oversee it myself. You will wipe Plutt’s garage so clean that Snoke can eat off the floor. Not only will there be no more money shifting through, but you will ensure that none ever did.”

Hux nodded miserably.

“Now get out.”

Hux stood up, aiming a last aggressive glance at Finn, and sloped off down the corridor to his office. Finn released an audible sigh of relief and pushed back from the table, but Kylo still wanted to tear something apart. He was trying to bring his anger back under control when Finn looked up from his phone messages, a worried frown on his face.

“Mr Ren, my contact at the garage just messaged me,” he explained. “The new manager that Hux put in place… he fired the girl this morning.”

“Oh, for the love of…” Kylo swept the books, papers and mugs of the table in a fury. He had to fix this for her without it looking obvious. Then a conversation from the party came back to him, and he remembered that Hux now had no inside knowledge of the Amata Tyres business. “Get me Giovanni on the phone, Finn. And thank you, that will be all.”


	9. The Break-in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't get around to answering everyone's comments, but I thank you profusely for each and every one! Sometimes work gets in the way.

Rey set the alarm for 8, so that she could be at the Job Centre at 9 when it opened. She refused to let this minor setback – ok, this series of minor setbacks – get her down. In fact, it was only mid-afternoon, so this was an opportunity to rest, as the doctors and nurses had insisted was necessary. Only hours out of the hospital, her nausea was already back like an old friend.

She would rest and be ready to tackle job hunting tomorrow. She had marketable skills now, she told herself, and an excellent set of A-levels in maths, physics and design and technology. The Job Centre had computers and she could update her CV. She looked in the chipped bathroom mirror and looked herself over – losing weight meant that her clothes were baggy, so no one would notice the little bump. She _had_ this.

She just had to throw up first.

She pulled out the sofa bed and curled up on the thin mattress, her woolly socks on her feet and a bulky hoodie keeping out the cold. She ate warm chicken noodle soup very slowly so that her stomach would accept it, and she refused to be scared. She remembered the mantra she used to chant to herself all through her teenage years in foster home after foster home: I will get through this to a better place.

When she woke up hours later, she sensed that she had fallen asleep curled around the soup bowl. It felt like the middle of the night. She stretched and reached down to set the bowl on the floor beneath her bed, but somehow … something… just felt off.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the hand closed over her mouth, but she tried screaming anyway, and she kicked until she heard a soft ‘oof’. A man. He had one arm wrapped tight around her body, the other still covered her mouth as he tried to immobilise her against his chest. She tried to twist and buck her way out of his grip, but she couldn’t gain a centimetre on him.

Then he was talking: “Rey, I need you to calm down. Stop struggling. That’s right,” the arm around her arms and ribcage loosened as she lowered her flailing legs to the bed. The voice was smooth and urgent and achingly familiar. “Calm down, there now, no harm’s going to come to you. Relax, Rey.” The hypnotic voice murmured on. The hand on her mouth pulled away.

“Kylo?” She twisted around to look up him. “Kylo? What…” She rubbed a hand across her eyes and pushed her hair back from her face. “Kylo, how are you… what… what the _hell_, Kylo?” She pushed herself up with her hands behind her back. “Did you break into my flat?”

He scoffed. “I’d hardly call what I had to do to illegally enter your flat, _breaking in_. You’ve pretty much laid out an invitation to criminals…” He looked around her single room sceptically. “I’d also argue that this… place… doesn’t qualify as a ‘flat’.”

Her heart was still racing in her chest, and the icy panic of being attacked in her sleep was still mixed up with her dreams and the darkness.

There was nowhere else to sit in her flat, so he was taking up the edge of her bed. “I am here because you have accused me of impregnating you,” he answered stiffly. “I’m here to make sure that you never again link my name with that baby.”

“What… how do you even know about that?”

“I received a call from the hospital when you were admitted. They thought I’d want to know about the medical condition of ‘my child’,” he snarled, using actual airquotes. “It seems you’d written my name down in the section marked ‘father’.”

Rey simply shrugged. “You are the father. There’s no one else it could be.” She thought he looked taken aback by that, but his next words wiped that impression away.

“You think you’ve found a ready source of cash, is that it? Have my baby and I’ll be forced to pay for you to move somewhere nicer and give up work.”

Rey just blinked at him, temporarily uncomprehending. Rey’s fantasies involved walking into Tesco and buying a punnet of raspberries with her very own debit card that drew on a bank account with enough money in it to easily cover the £2.99 charge. Her dreams never involved someone else buying them for her; in her fantasies, she always paid herself, with money that she had earned. And give up work? How in the world would she ever be independent if she gave up work? That’s all she had wanted since as far back as she could remember: not needing to rely on people who would ultimately let her down.

She hadn’t wanted to continue working for Plutt, true enough, but she liked working on cars. And maybe someday she’d be able to afford university. She could learn about running a business; she could open her own garage.

Who was this wanker telling her what her dreams were? Rey had dreams: she wanted to buy wholemeal bread and not the cheaper white stuff, and she had always wanted to try artichokes. She’d seen a television programme about them, some travelogue of rural France. And Brie, now that she was remembering the show. Brie with pears and grapes. On organic, wholemeal sourdough. Which she’d never had but just knew would taste heavenly. And now she was hungry, and anyway she had lost the thread of this man’s rant. In his fury, he’d gone a bit red in his handsome face, but now Rey was preoccupied with wondering if having daydreams about French food meant that her sickness was lifting. That would be amazing, she thought, and smiled to herself. Kylo forgotten, she popped up from her sofa and crossed to the kitchen counter.

An apple.

God, was she sick of apples.

“You are clearly too immature to be a mother, if what I saw of you deliberately starving yourself and turning up to work hungover…”

Maybe if she sliced it. She might have a little cheddar left over. She opened the fridge to root around and came up with a chunk about the size of her thumb. Triumphant, she set about slicing up the apple and layer the slices with slivers of cheddar, arranged on the plate just like she’d seen on the travel programme. There, she grinned at her handiwork. Just like Brie and pears.

Then she noticed the silence.

Kylo had stopped the harangue, and now he was looking at her as though he had no idea how to react, if she was rude or insane. Whatever. His opinion of her wasn’t going to get any lower than it already was; he wasn’t going to be any help to her. He didn’t want anything to do with her or with the baby, yes, she understood that. So why wasn’t he just fucking off?

She was hungry, which happened so rarely in the last few months that she wasn’t going to let him spoil it. She took a bite of the apple and cheddar and chewed cautiously, expecting the nausea to kick her in the ribs at any moment. But no… it tasted… nice. Nothing aside from blueberries had tasted nice, an uncomplicated sort of nice, for roughly 10 weeks, and she’d only bought them twice, when they were on special offer. She kept eating the apple, faster now, and grinning to herself and crying with relief at the same time.

“What the hell…” he muttered, finally. He shifted to lean threateningly into her space. “Are you mocking me?”

She should make a quick trip to the supermarket, she decided. She twitched aside the curtain and looked out the window across the street at the clock on the church – it was only 7.30pm. She must have really passed out this afternoon. She reached around Kylo for her bag, then upended the change compartment of her wallet into her palm and quickly added up the coins. £4.57. She could work with that.

She looked up at him, still standing too close, still looking like she had murdered his beloved pet. “You’ll need to leave,” she said, standing and shoving the change and her keys into her pockets. “I need to go buy food.” She already had her arms threaded through the sleeves of her trusty green coat.

He gaped at her. “It’s shedding it down,” he said.

“It’s often raining,” she shrugged. “It’s December. I still need food.” She opened the door and waved her hand toward the corridor, indicating that he should hurry up and leave so that she could lock up.

“I am not leaving,” he huffed. “You will agree tonight that you will never again list me as the father of this child on any sort of form.”

“Fine, whatever.” She really needed to get to the shop before it closed.

Kylo ploughed on: “You are not a fit parent. Have you heard a word I’ve said about adoption?”

Rey frowned. She was a fit enough parent to know that she needed to feed herself and the baby, so what the hell was his problem? And like fuck was she turning over her child to anyone. “I don’t want you in my space when I’m not here. And I need to get something in for tea. Right now.” She stared him down. “Please leave.”

He swung on his coat in an arc wider than her flat could accommodate, knocking a cushion off the sofabed, then swept through the door and stopped in the corridor, looming over her as she locked up. Rey ignored him and used the handrail to balance herself down the stairs: she had been pushed down a half a flight once as a child by some other feral foster kid, and now she was extra paranoid of any fall that could harm the baby. She pushed her back against the banister and motioned for Kylo to squeeze past her on the narrow stairs: she hated people following her closely down the stairs, and he was dogging her steps, still spouting some nonsense about gold digging. Rey rolled her eyes nearly into her sockets at that one. If only.

It was raining too hard to walk all the way to the discount grocery shop, but the big Tesco would have enough going cheap to manage. She roamed the fruit and veg section, walking through all the aisles, looking at prices. Today, everything looked tasty, and it made her heart soar.

He was following still, shaking the rain off his heavy, waterproof coat. “Well what do you want?” Ben demanded, exasperated.

Rey never asked herself that question in a supermarket. The question was always, What can I afford? And lately, what won’t I throw up? She had £4.57, so she would buy herself £4.57 worth of the most nutritious food she could find. Rey continued down the veg aisle, hunting for offers. Cauliflower was cheap, as always, as were carrots. She dropped both into her basket. Potatoes were on special. So were pears, so she bought two. She had a sudden vision of a proper roast dinner: she hoped chicken would come in under budget. Roasting would cost a bit in gas to cook it all up, but if she could find some chicken cheap enough…

When she turned around to head out to the meat aisle, she bumped into the megalith of Kylo. “Are you still following me?” she asked, irritated. But she couldn’t move; he had caged her near the potatoes, his hands on both her shoulders, his big eyes boring into hers. “Wait,” he said. “Just… wait a moment. Are you… hungry?”

Rey screwed up her face. What a question. “Yes, of course I’m hungry. That’s why I’m shopping for food.”

“No,” Kylo shook his head, and he looked deadly serious. “I mean, are you hungry because you can’t afford food?”

She had been, of course, for most of her life, growing up in foster families that all cooked differently, which she’d hated as a child. Just when she grew used to one style of eating, she’d have to adjust to another. And anyway food was always in short supply. She knew that’s why she was short: malnutrition. But she had to admit that since starting to work fulltime after school, even on the low wages, she could afford enough food. She never woke up with her stomach scrunched in a painful ball like she had as a child.

“The only thing stopping me from eating right now, is you.” Rey pushed his hands off her shoulder and scooted around him, escaping. She found the chicken, totted up her basket in her head, and grinned. £4.30. And even better, Kylo seemed to have disappeared, leaving her free to check out and go home to enjoy her roast dinner.

She nearly skipped home, and she spent the rest of the evening cooking up what tasted like the best roast dinner she’d ever had. Tomorrow she was going to wake up refreshed, eat pears for breakfast and find herself an even better job.

>>> 

Kylo shadowed her back to her flat in the rain, concerned that she might pass out again before she had a chance to cook dinner. No wonder she was so thin: she was counting her change and buying just enough to feed herself for tonight. Guilt began spiking uncomfortably through his chest; he watched through the windows of her block as she slowly and carefully climbed the stairs to her flat.

He reverted to logic, and he went over the facts as he knew them. What did he actually know about her?

She watched her footing so she wouldn’t fall; she held tight to the handrails; she bought healthy food; she snacked on apples; she had a tin marked ‘cot’ that was half-filled with fivers and change. While he’d been trying to cut all ties to her, she had been quietly saving what little she had for the baby.

She seemed to have no parents, he’d learned that in the hospital, and no other relatives or friends that she would write down as emergency contacts. Kylo thought, briefly, of what his own parents would do if they knew that this girl – this kind, hardworking, clever girl – was one missed paycheque from the streets while carrying their grandchild. Because she was, wasn’t she? She hadn’t sought him out, she hadn’t asked for a penny, all she had done was write his name down on a form at the midwife’s office, with no expectation that anyone would ever contact him.

She wasn’t hungover or irresponsible: she was ill. She still made it into work, still fixed his Jaguar, still dragged herself there and back each day, even if he’d just watched it take nearly 10 minutes for her to climb two flights of stairs.

She was the strongest person he’d ever met.

She was incredibly beautiful.

Kylo stood under a bus stop across the street and watched as she entered the flat and switched on the light. Through the thin cotton cloth over her window, he could make out her outline, chopping up vegetables and popping a tray of food into the oven.

He had needed to convince her not write his name down on any more official forms; he had to be sure that there was no way to connect him to Rey’s baby. It was easier than he’d thought it would be; she seemed completely uninterested in him or his help. Turning into the rain, he gripped his car keys in his pocket and started the long walk back to the car park he’d used to try to make sure he wasn’t followed.

He couldn’t have anything to do with her, but he needed to help her.


	10. The Investigation

Accident and Emergency was jumping tonight. Rose had been here a handful of times over the years, looking into one case or another, and she’d never seen it so manic: nurses and junior doctors and emergency services staff rushing through the corridors and in and out the doors to the ambulances, letting in a stiff December wind. She’d been trying to flag down the Head of Emergency Medicine for half an hour when his assistant finally found them in the triage area and let them up stairs to this office.

“Hello,” she began the minute they’d walked through the door, “I’m Detective Rose Tico, and the is Detective Chief Inspector Poe Dameron. We’re here as part of a wider investigation into organised crime…”

“You know I can’t give out patient details,” he sighed. “Look, it’s a madhouse out there tonight, so if you don’t mind...”

Poe cleared his throat. “We don’t need information about the patient,” he said, sitting down like they all had time for a discussion. She always liked how the DCI did this; slowed everything down so that they could get to the information. “We need to know about a visitor to the patient.”

“Was this in A&E?” the doctor asked. “Just ask for the security footage and…”

“It’s been wiped,” Poe told him. “She was moved to a ward, and all the footage of the visitor to her on the ward was deleted. The page in your registration book with his name in… also gone. But we’ve been told that a nurse came from the ward to take her up from A&E, and that she saw the visitor. I’m hoping she’ll have a name or a description.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “When was this?”

“Three days ago. The patient was brought in in the evening, maybe around 6, by ambulance. Her name is Rey Smith.”

The doctor turned to his computer and started typing. “Yes, okay, here she is. She was taken up to the Nightengale Ward by Julia Sinde. She’s on duty tonight, shall I call her in?”

“Please,” Poe answered evenly. Rose knew how critical this was, a test of her source’s credibility. As the doctor left to find Nurse Sinde, Poe sighed, “I feel like we’re close to something finally.”

Rose nodded. “Finn said that when the hospital called, Kylo Ren came running the minute he found out. Spooked him, Finn said, and Ren isn’t easy to spook.”

“Did he know why she’d been admitted?” Rose shook her head. “Maybe she’s a relative? We have no history of him dating anyone for longer than one night. We know every member of his family, and none match her description.” Poe stopped talking as the door opened again, and the doctor ushered in Nurse Sinde, then left them alone to interview her. “Ms Sinde?” Poe stood and graciously offered up the chair next to Rose. “I’m sure the doctor has told you that we’re looking for information…”

“About that girl, right? She was a little slip of a thing, skin and bones.” The nurse looked almost sad. “I don’t know what I can tell you about her… it’s all confidential.”

“Yes, of course it is,” Poe nodded along. “What we really want to know about is a visitor she’s reported to have had.”

The woman’s eyes went wide and Rose could see her hands start to shake. “She didn’t have any visitors,” the woman said, an obvious lie from someone not used to lying and not keen to do so.

“I’m pretty sure she did,” he pressed, sitting against the edge of the doctor’s desk. “She had a visitor so eager for no one to ever know he was here, that he’s wiped the security footage and ripped a page out of the register. And I imagine that he’ll have tried to hush up any witnesses, too.”

“Is she in danger? That girl?” Nurse Sinde whispered.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“It’s really important that we find him,” Rose added, leaning in toward the nurse. “I know he was intimidating, but…”

“He threatened my grandchildren,” she shuddered. “Said he’d find them, track them down, if I ever said a word.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I never found out his name. He didn’t give it. Just said he wasn’t the boyfriend, and he wasn’t…” Nurse Sinde’s hands flew over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I am not allowed to discuss her. But him,” she seethed, “him I’ll tell you all about. Tall, around 190 or 195cm, I’d guess. Black hair, brown eyes. He was wearing sports clothes, expensive trainers. Older than her: late 20’s, early 30’s.”

“Did he give you any idea of his relationship to Ms Smith?” Rose asked.

“No, just that he didn’t have one. Said he didn’t know any family or friends we could call. Said he’d only just found out that she was… well, I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

Poe scribbled into his notepad and exchanged a look with Rose. They both knew that she was describing Kylo Ren, and it backed up Finn’s information. “Do you remember anything else about him?”

“He didn’t say much else; he was a prickly one. But I’ll tell you one thing: if she is in danger, it’s not from him.”

“No?” Poe asked, prompting for more.

“I see a lot of people sitting next to hospital beds, waiting for their loved ones to wake up, and I can tell you that very few men look at their wives and girlfriends with half as much by the way of puppy eyes as he was looking at her. I don’t think he meant her any harm.”

Poe flipped his notebook shut and signalled to Rose that they were finished. “Thank you, nurse. I want to warn you right now that you must deny any knowledge of this visit to anyone else who may come asking, no matter if they claim to be police. I will not authorise anyone else to ask you questions about this, all right?”

She nodded her assent, and Poe followed Rose out the sliding doors of the hospital.

“What next, guv?” Rose grinned, knowing that Finn’s tip had just provided the most reliable new lead they’d had on Ren since the investigation into Snoke’s operations began over a year ago. He ran Snoke’s businesses with an almost wizardly power, making sure that no matter how reprehensible the business – drugs, people trafficking, intimidation, arms – nothing led to Snoke or himself. They couldn’t find a pressure point, but now Finn seemed to think that there might be a secret girlfriend.

Poe slid into the driver’s seat of their unmarked Land Rover and waited for Rose to strap herself in. “I think we’ll need to find out more about Rey Smith. Finn told you that he hadn’t seen Ren so much as phone her, no signs of any sort of relationship, but then why is his name on her hospital records? We need to find out what she is to him, and what she knows.” He threw the car into gear and set off.

>>> 

Rey dropped her keys on the countertop of her kitchenette and allowed herself a little dance: the woman at the job centre had been impressed with her work experience and had set her up an interview with a nearby garage for the day after tomorrow.

“See, Babe?” she told her bump. “I told you that mama had this.” She looked into the emergency funds jar, and there was still enough there to cover another week with no income before she had to dip into others. She set her cloth grocery bag on the counter and unloaded a bottle of milk into the fridge.

She’d just struggled out of her coat and hung it on its peg when there was a knock at her door. Rey hadn’t been in London long enough or had enough free time to make friends. The only person who had ever visited her was Kylo, and she was not interested in another conversation with that wanker. She crept over to the peephole on her door and peered through.

Mrs Amata? Shocked, Rey fumbled open the locks on the door and swung it open. It was indeed Mrs Amata, a wide smile on her perfectly made-up face, a thick fur coat around her shoulders that Rey was uncomfortably aware had no fake fur involved. She held a gleaming Prada bag in one hand and a pretty pink patisserie box in the other, tied up in white ribbon.

“Rey, you lovely child! I went looking for you at the garage and the fool manager told me you have been licenziata from your job. I had to come and find you.” Rey moved to one side and let Mrs Amata in, glad she had at least folded up her sofabed this morning so that the woman had somewhere to sit.

“I’m… umm… did you need someone to fix something on Peppe?” Rey asked, utterly confused. Mrs Amata set the pink box on Rey’s counter and sat down on the sofa as if she belonged there. “Would you like some tea?” Rey remembered her manners.

“Yes, please, dear,” the older woman smiled. Rey started rattling about, filling the kettle and gathering up two mugs. “Those,” she indicated the box, “are proper Sicilian cannoli, made with ricotta from near my hometown. I helped the woman set up her bakery when she arrived here in London, and she honestly does make the most wonderful pastries.”

Rey stared at the delicate box. It was hands down the most beautifully wrapped gift she had every received. “Thank you.” Rey handed a mug of tea to Mrs Amata and perched on the other end of the sofa with her own.

“You must be wondering why I’ve come all this way, Rey. My son – you remember Giovanni? – he’s going to call you later today. He’s going to offer you a job, and I wanted to stop by to make extra sure that you take it.”

“A job?” Rey clutched her fingers around her mug.

“Yes, indeed. I’ve convinced him to hire a mechanic, just for the family vehicles. Someone trustworthy and reliable. It’s winter now, never my Peppe’s best season, and I like having someone on call when his battery just isn’t up to Northern European frosts.”

“You want me to be… your personal mechanic?”

“Esattamente. You won’t have to come in to work, just when we need you. I can’t imagine that it will take up too much of your time. Now,” Mrs Amata nodded toward Rey’s belly, “that you have another to think on.”

“Giovanni will not be pleased that you’re in this neighbourhood, Mrs Amata. And surely he’ll want to find someone with more experience…”

“Bah!” She took a sip of her tea. “This job is perfect for you. I see that I was right to stop by and talk you out of any self-sabotage.” Mrs Amata’s gaze turned harder. “You see me like my son does, I suppose. Spoiled and pampered. And that’s true. My Peppe - the real Peppe, my late husband – he made sure I never wanted for anything. But I grew up with nothing. And poor in rural Sicily, my dear, that is a sort of poverty you Londoners do not understand. So you think I’m shocked by your little flat?” She shook her head. “This is where you start. It’s not where you end.”

Rey couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

Mrs Amata patted her knee and stood up. “You eat those cannoli – a little sugar and fat will do you good. And you take my son’s money because rich men always overpay each other for doing nothing, and why shouldn’t you benefit the same way?”

“Thank you, Mrs Amata,” Rey smiled. “I promise that I’ll take the job.”

“There! That’s the outcome I wanted. You make sure my son pays you properly. Negotiate like you were me!” The tinny sound of Rey’s seldom-used landline rang out in the flat. “That’s probably him. I’ll take my leave and you answer that.”

Mrs Amata slipped out and clicked the door shut as Rey picked up the call. Without any need for negotiation, Giovanni offered her £35,000 a year to work on-call. When she mentioned her pregnancy, knowing that his mother would tell him regardless, he simply outlined that she would receive statutory maternity leave at full pay for 3 months and he could offer half-pay for an additional six months to keep her on staff. She agreed to visit their offices tomorrow to sign the paperwork.

When they hung up, Rey drifted over to the counter and carefully unwrapped the pink box. Inside were six exquisite little tubes of pastry stuffed with a sweet filling, with the ends dipped in chocolate and covered in crushed pistachios. She had certainly never, ever eaten anything so pretty. There was a seventh pastry, utterly plain, and tied in a gold ribbon. Inside, Rey found £300 in rolled-up £20 notes. She sat back down on her sofa, savouring one of the cannoli with her warm mug of tea, and counting the notes over and over again.

>>> 

“You didn’t mention that she was pregnant, Kylo.”

Stretching his legs over his coffee table, Kylo shifted the burner phone to his other ear. “I didn’t know myself. Nothing to do with me.”

Mrs Amata huffed a laugh. “You are a shite liar, boy.”

“I’m an excellent liar, Mrs Amata. I am a lawyer.”

“Well, Giovanni says she’s taken the job, and I made sure that she got the money, as well,” the woman continued. “But, Kylo, you really should…”

Kylo dropped his feet back to the floor and leaned forward to pour himself another whiskey. “I thank you again for the errand, Mrs Amata. I certainly won’t forget your generosity.”

“Listen, you stubborn asino…”

“I hope we meet again soon, Mrs Amata. Goodbye.” Kylo didn’t like the connection, but Giovanni’s business was a large and completely above-board, and it could certainly hide one small girl. This was better than anything he could offer her in person. He would only poison her life if he got anywhere near it.


	11. The Lawyer

It wasn’t enough money to raise suspicions or draw attention to her, but Kylo couldn’t help a rare genuine smile to see that the job he'd arranged was paying enough money to splurge on exotic fruit. Pregnant women had cravings, he’d read, and his Rey seemed to crave fruit if the contents of her shopping trolley were anything to judge by. She had punnets of raspberries and blueberries, a pineapple, three mangos and bag of satsumas.

He couldn’t see her often, but he’d told Giovanni to advance her first month’s pay, and he’d chosen the day after the payment to ditch his car, take three buses and the Tube to confuse any possible tracking, and then walk the final mile to see her. Spy on her, like a stalker, some corner of his mind whispered. He shook his head to clear it; it was entirely reasonable for him to want to check in on the mother of his unborn child.

From his spot behind a display of chocolate advent calendars, Kylo could hear her humming to herself as she loaded red peppers and salad into the trolley. She was wearing a pair of bulky faded jeans, rolled up to mid-calf, thick yellow socks and heavy black boots that looked two sizes too big. Her chestnut hair looked soft and lush falling down the back of her Nordic wool jumper. She’d tied off the jeans with a chunky brown leather belt, just below her bump. When she reached up for a pot of fresh coriander on an upper shelf, her jumper rode up and he could see her belly above the belt.

She looked like she was wearing the hand-me-downs of an older and much larger sibling. Then the thought hit him that she simply couldn’t fit into her old clothes anymore and she’d had to scrounge what she could from a charity shop. Rubbing away a pain from behind his eyes, Kylo considered asking Giovanni to add a Christmas bonus to her pay.

She was growing prettier, her eyes brighter and her skin shining with health, since he last saw her. The dark circles beneath her eyes were gone. She was still woefully thin, but he supposed a few days would not make much of a dent in that.

That was that, then. He’d arranged the job, and he’d had a report that she had signed the papers, the company had helped her open a bank account and he’d even checked in person to see that she was well. There was no need to see her again, or to remember the feel of his hands on her belly.

None at all.

As long as he was here, though, he would stay just a little longer. Just until his chest stopped hurting, until his heart stopped feeling like it would explode in his chest.

>>> 

Rey took her time with the fruit salad, washing and slicing and finally drowning the whole thing in a generous pour of fresh cream. She took a bite and… oh, she could almost feel the baby doing happy little backflips. She wanted to do one herself, that tasted soooooo good. She polished off the bowl and looked around… no one here to judge, she shrugged, and she picked up the bowl and licked it clean with a grin.

Wiping her mouth with a tea towel, Rey returned to the sofa and dug through her handbag for her latest purchase: an older model Android with a generous data plan. She spent half an hour with her feet up, messing around with the settings and inputting the only numbers she knew: Giovanni’s office, Mrs Amata’s mobile, the midwife at the GP’s surgery and the maternity ward at The Whittingdon.

She thought long and hard about Kylo. She remembered his office number, but he’d been so insulting – gold digger, for fuck’s sake – and so very adamant that she not ‘accuse’ him of fatherhood. Still, he was the father, and she should probably keep hold of his name and number somewhere. She added him under ‘Twat’ and tapped in his office phone.

The knock on the door startled her. For someone with only five contacts on her phone, she seemed to be getting a lot of visitors lately. At least she knew it wasn’t Kylo, as he wouldn’t bother knocking.

“Miss Smith. It’s Detective Inspective Rose Tico. We’d like to speak with you, please,” a polite voice called.

The police? Rey swept her eyes around her flat; it was tidy, if shabby. She put the fruit bowl into the sink, then opened the door. Det Tico was adorable, if one could describe a police officer that way: dressed in a pretty checked shirtdress and long boots, her winter coat pulled tight around her body. Rey liked anyone shorter than she was almost as a policy.

“Miss Smith, thank you. This is DCI Poe Dameron. We have a few questions for you. Would you mind if we came in?”

Rey waved them in; she and Det Tico sat on the sofa while the DCI leaned against the kitchen counter for lack of anywhere else to sit. DCI Dameron brushed a residual sprinkling of rain from his curls and took out a notebook; she watched him scan his eyes around her little space, and Rey felt a sudden surge of defensiveness, as though social services had walked in and would think her home unsuitable for a baby. She needed to find somewhere else to live, she admitted to herself.

“Ms Smith, we’re here because when you were in hospital earlier this week, a man came to visit you: Kylo Ren. We’d like to find out a little more about your relationship to him,” the DCI began.

“Kylo? Really? I didn’t know he had visited. I was unconscious for the first few hours after they brought me in.” Rey looked down at her hands. “He really came to visit me?”

DCI Dameron inclined his head. “Yes, he did. Does that surprise you?”

“Kind of, yes. I mean, we’d only met once,” she trailed off, thoughtful. Kylo had visited her and then just left? His little visit the other night must have been about that. She didn’t know that he’d come to the hospital. “No one at the hospital mentioned it.”

Det Dameron raised an eyebrow. “That’s because he threatened the only nurse who saw him; told her that he’d find her grandchildren and harm them.” Rey gasped. “He made absolutely sure that there was no record of his visit. So we wanted to know, what brought Kylo Ren out to a north London hospital and what didn’t he want anyone to find out?” Dameron was looking pointedly at her belly. If she weren’t so horribly skinny, she could probably bluff her way through, but she knew that in just jeans and a t-shirt, the bump was obvious.

Rey gave him a self-deprecating smile. “We had a one night stand in July. And, well…” she gestured to her bump. “Here we are. But I never told Kylo about it. I had written his name down at the midwife’s office, and they must have rung him when I passed out and had to be taken to hospital. He’s not involved or anything.”

“Charming,” Det Tico muttered. “Kylo Ren is the personal lawyer of Gerald Snoke, the head of the worldwide First Order sindicato. Snoke has patched together mafia from China, Japan, Italy, Brazil, Colombia, Libya, South Africa… you get the idea. Drugs and weapons are his main sources of income, but he also takes a cut of every local protection racket and illegal gambling site and payday loan scam that First Order affiliates run worldwide. They’re people trafficking…”

“People trafficking…” Rey repeated, her voice strained. “Kylo is running a slave trade? I thought he was just a lawyer.”

“Actually,” Dameron cut in, “we’ve traced the end of Snoke’s trafficking in humans to Ren’s rise to power. The only First Order people that have been captured by police have been involved in slavery. Ren won’t protect them. In fact, he seems to be quite adept at murdering anyone caught slaving. Unkar Plutt, for example.”

Rey’s jaw dropped open. What. The. Fuck. The father of her baby was holding together a global organised crime syndicate? And he’d killed her boss?

“Okay,” Rey took a breath. “Okay. I … did not know that.” She let her hands fall to her bump, a habit she’d been careful to avoid, but now it seemed silly to deny her condition. “But I don’t see what help I can be, DCI Dameron. I don’t have any sort of relationship with Kylo. I don’t expect to see him again.”

“That would fit his pattern,” Det Tico said to the DCI. Turning to Rey, she explained: “He cut himself off from his parents about 8 years ago. Never sees them or speaks to them. He changed his name when he started working for Snoke…”

“He changed his name? What was it before?”

“Ben Solo,” DCI Cameron told her. “Kylo Ren is really Ben Solo. You are the first hint we’ve had of him having a private life, one not entirely dedicated to Snoke.”

“I’m sorry,” Rey whispered, her head in a muddle. “I’m sorry that I can’t help. But I just don’t know anything about Kylo, or Ben.” She decided there and then not to mention his visit the other night; if anything was going to get her reported to child protection services, it was being involved with organised crime.

Det Tico stood and DCI Dameron handed Rey a business card. “Thank you for your time, Ms Smith. If he contacts you, or if you come across any information at all about Ren, please ring us.”

Rey nodded along and saw the detectives out of the flat.

Fuck.

The mob? She’d known that Plutt was, as Kylo himself had said, scum. But the mob? Rey found herself moving on autopilot, and she didn’t entirely realise what she was up to until she found herself standing outside the door of Giovanni’s office, his PA handing her a mug of tea as she waited for him to finish a call.

“Rey?” Giovanni smiled as he stuck his head out the door of his office, looking a little puzzled. “Here, come in,” he gestured for her to follow him. The moment her butt hit the seat of a chair, Rey began a nervous babble of ‘organised crime’ and ‘Kylo’ and ‘police’.

“I know what Kylo does,” Giovanni said evenly, cutting her off. “But I don’t know any more than the police do; I am very careful to leave Kylo to his job and just do mine.”

“Am I somehow involved in Kylo’s …. work …. if I am working for you?”

Giovanni’s eyes widened. “Okay, I see. I see what you’re thinking. You know, my father was in deep with the sindicato, back in Sicily, and they moved him out here with my mother long before I was born. But by the end he was owed so much by his bosses that they let him establish this company, the one that I run now. We deal in car parts, tyres, garages… and that’s all. Every penny is accounted for with the tax authorities, including your salary. We are not part of anything even remotely illegal.”

Rey pushed on: “I knew that this job seemed to good to be true.”

“You have, I’ll admit, been given this job as a favour to Kylo. But while it’s a little indulgent to hire my mother her own car maintenance expert, it’s certainly not illegal. And she adores you; you’re good company for her when you visit. I don’t regret the money spent on you, not at all. You are a mechanic; you are paid to be a mechanic. If the police ever questioned this, I would have no trouble at all proving that you provide the exact services that you are paid to provide.” His calmness was resolute.

Rey silently gave thanks that she would not be forced to give up this job. “Thank you, Mr Amata. I’m sorry to have burst in here like this.”

“That’s quite all right, Rey. And my mother would love to see you if you can stop by tomorrow. She seems to think you need feeding up,” he patted his own belly, “and she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

Rey walked home slowly; it was rush hour now, and she didn’t like being jostled on the bus; she felt odd if strangers touched her belly, even accidentally. The information about Kylo was a lot to take in, but she felt insulated from it. Giovanni didn’t seem concerned; she could ask Mrs Amata tomorrow.

Her key stuck in her lock when she arrived home, and she vowed to visit the estate agents on the high street tomorrow morning and start searching for a new flat. A 2-bedroom was probably hoping for too much, even on her new salary, but a one bedroom would do. She closed the door and hung her coat up on its hook. Maybe by the time the baby was old enough to need its own room, she’d be making more money, and she could…

Rey dropped her bag and threw herself backwards against the door, her bag clutched over her belly. On her sofa, lounging with his feet over the armrest, was Kylo. He looked up from his phone and swung his long legs down onto the floor.

“Rey…”

“Fuck! Oh my… fuck!” She leaned forward, hands on her knees, to breathe through the panic, staring at him with wide eyes.

With his head hanging enough for his hair to fall over his eyes, Kylo took two steps into her, his hands out, palms open, as if to show her that he was unarmed. Which she supposed he might be. Should she ask him? But then he very cautiously reached out to put one hand beneath her elbow and another around her back, leading her over to her sofa.

And Rey couldn’t help but think of him moving over that plush mint sofa in the hotel, ever careful to make sure she knew what he planned to do, giving her time to object. This time he let her sink into the seat and backed himself away to lean on the kitchen counter, where the DCI had been just hours earlier.

Then in a low, deep, calm voice: “I’m sorry for scaring you. But I think it’s time we had a talk.”


	12. The Talk

He looked like he had the night she met him – collected, controlled, smartly dressed - only tonight’s expensive suit was grey, the shirt dark blue. If he’d been wearing a tie earlier, he wasn’t now. She focussed on the details of him – hair neatly brushed but shaggy, both hands now stuffed into his trouser pockets, his black shoes as shiny as she remembered – and waited for her heart rate to return to normal.

She should call the police, and with the thought, her eyes tracked to the brand new phone she’d set on the countertop when she entered, before she knew that he was here.

“Who is it you’re thinking of calling?” he asked, following her gaze.

Her eyes snapped back to his, deep and brown and unreadable. “The police,” she answered honestly, still breathing hard. “Someone’s broken into my flat. Again.”

“I didn’t break in, Rey. I have a key.” He pushed off the counter and pulled one hand from a pocket, a set of her keys dangling from his index finger. How did he get a copy of her keys?

“You shouldn’t frighten me like that. It’s dangerous…” She laid a hand across her belly.

“I apologise for that.” He dropped the keys back into his pocket, and Rey’s eyes were drawn to something just hidden from view. 

“Are those strawberries?” She looked behind him at the kitchen counter, where a clear, plastic box of lush berries sat before the kettle. They certainly hadn’t been there earlier. “Did you bring me strawberries?”

“Yes, I don’t know if you like them, but…” She waved impatiently for him to hand them over and popped the box open. They weren’t just strawberries; they were strawberries dipped in dark chocolate. She picked one up and nibbled it experimentally. “These are amazing. Thank you.” Then she remembered that she was thanking the man who had gunned down her boss.

“It’s nothing,” he studied her intently. That was true enough, she supposed: it was nothing. A box of sweets didn’t stack up against murder, drug running, illegal weapons and intimidation. Or refusing to acknowledge his own child.

He nodded his head towards the far side of the sofa. “May I sit?”

“I can’t even count on a locked door keeping you out. You’re twice my size and I’m not in a condition to fight you. I doubt I could stop you doing anything.”

He halted his slow progression toward the sofa, a troubled look on his face. “I can stand here if you prefer.”

She tilted her head in thought: “Ya know, I do prefer.” He retreated and leaned awkwardly against her counter; he looked ridiculous, far too big for her space, and it seemed to make him uncomfortable. Good. “You said you wanted to talk?” She was not going to offer to make tea, either.

“I do. I wanted to tell you, to let you know, that I know that, umm, _that_… is mine,” he gestured with one overgrown paw to her midsection.

Rey leaned back into the sofa and picked up a second strawberry. “Oh, do you now?”

“I believed you…”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know you very well, but I suspected you weren’t lying when you wrote my name down.” He was mumbling a bit, which didn’t suit him at all: he didn’t seem like the type to mumble. “I take responsibility for it.”

“It,” she repeated, nodding. She popped a whole strawberry in her mouth and spoke around it: “How were you planning to do that? Take responsibility for _it_?”

The question seemed to throw him. “You already know that I arranged that job for you with the Amatas.”

“Yes, it even offers nine months of paid maternity leave. Very generous terms.” Rey wiped her hands on her jeans. “Still, I think a proper gold digger should be after more than a job as a mechanic…”

He looked up the ceiling and then back down at her. “Clearly, I misspoke. Let it go.”

“Christ, you are a lawyer.” She imbued the word with as much disgust as she could manage. 

Kylo sighed. “Rey, I know that the police were here…” She raised her eyebrows. “So I know that they must have told you about my job.”

“I didn’t get any details, but the take away message was that you’re a mafia boss. Second in command of the most heinous organised crime syndicate in the world. Your boss, Mr Snoke, is referred to as the Supreme Leader?” Her voice seemed to grow more faint with each sentence.

He narrowed his eyes at the mention of Snoke. “If you know about my work, then you must realise that any connection between us is potentially dangerous. There are people who might use you, or the … baby… to get to me.”

Actually, Rey had not thought of that. She’d not had a lot of time to process what DCI Dameron had told her this morning, and neither he nor Giovanni had indicated that she was in any danger. Besides, she was possibly the most insignificant person in this city; she mattered to no one but herself.

“If you’re here to tell me not to write your name of the birth certificate, you needn’t worry. I wasn’t planning on it.” She crossed her arms over the top of her belly.

“You certainly shouldn’t create any official connections between us.” He was still staring at her; perhaps other people found this intimidating, but Rey was used to big people trying to lord themselves over her. “But the police know now, don’t they?”

His voice was dark. Rey thought about the conversation this morning: yes, she had told them that Kylo was the father. “The investigators know.” Kylo’s whole face seemed to harden, and for the first time, she wondered what he might be capable of, she wondered if she should be afraid. “I told them that I didn’t know you, that we’d only met that one night.” He raised an eyebrow at this. “I didn’t tell them about your visit here.”

He walked over to the sofa. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit,” he said, ignoring the start of a protest from her. He sat down a little nearer to her than strictly necessary. “You’ve lied to the police, Rey. I think we should examine this a bit more closely.” He shifted so that he was looking slightly down at her, his hands on his knees, his shoulders and eyes aligned to give her his full attention.

Rey had very rarely had anyone’s full attention. The men and boys who had given her their attention before had really had only their own interests in mind and they’d managed to look both at her and through her at the same time. Suddenly, in the last few days, she’d had all these people noticing her: Mrs Amata, Giovanni, DCI Dameron and DI Tico. And somehow it all had to do with the man in front of her. Kylo wasn’t here for his own benefit, she realised, he was here for hers.

“I know Poe Dameron. He won’t tell a soul that the baby is mine, not if he thinks there’s nothing to be gained. He won’t even have written it in that infernal notebook of his.” Rey remembered the notebook. “He knows that any connection you have to me could put you and the baby at risk.”

“Am I at risk from you?”

Kylo didn’t look surprised or affronted by the question. “No,” he answered in a more gentle voice, “I intend to keep the two of you safe.”

It wasn't an apology or any sort of commitment. But Rey had excellent recall of Kylo’s body, and now he was tantalisingly close. The return of her appetite for food had allowed a hunger for sex to resurface, and she remembered her plans to find a man who would make her feel like he had. Even better, some primitive part of her brain whispered, the man himself is right here. She wanted him – suddenly and certainly – the same way that she had on that pretty summer night.

Rey moved to sit on her knees, balancing on the lumpy sofa cushion, putting herself at eye level with him and just that much closer. She could study his face from here: his big eyes were guarded and curious. She hadn’t noticed it happening, but one of his hands was touching her face, his fingers curling into her hair, his palm against her jaw, holding her still in the position she’d chosen.

“Why did you lie to the police, Rey?” he asked softly.

“I’m not sure. It just seemed better that they not know. About us. About you, I mean. Being here.”

“Us?” He leaned almost imperceptibly closer, his thumb stroking along the side of her face. “Is there an us that needs protecting from the police?” It seemed like a rhetorical question, and Rey made no move to answer. He’s going to kiss me, Rey thought, if I just stay still… but he only continued to hold her in a gentle grasp, softly touching only her face and hair.

Rey pushed forward instead, dipping both hands into his hair and brushing her lips to his. Straight away, his other hand was around her waist and he was settling her into a more comfortable place, on his lap. The kiss melted into deep and long and Rey felt so twisted up in him that she couldn’t think straight; his hands were wandering beneath her jumper and t-shirt, dragging down her back in a way that felt completely wonderful.

“No bra,” he murmured, bringing his hands to stroke along the sides of her breasts.

“My old ones don’t fit anymore, and I didn’t have money to replace them,” she smiled with her eyes closed. He faltered for moment, then continued. “And they’re oooo… careful! … they’re a little sensitive,” she stumbled out between kisses.

“Noted,” he whispered, pulling her jumper and t-shirt over her head. Gently, he held her breasts with both hands and stroked softly with his palms. Rey tilted her head back; he was as good at this as she remembered, singularly focussed on making her feel good. And with everything she’d been through in the last few months – hell, in the last 20 years – Rey wanted to feel good. All she had done was survive in the hope that one day she would be able to really live. Kylo felt like living.

Kylo felt decadent.

He was pressing her into the sofa, asking if he could take off her jeans, fumbling with the weathered leather belt she’d found in the charity shop to accommodate her bump. His hands came to rest across the baby, his fingers stretched across the whole of her tummy. Then they were slipping down between her legs, and she was splayed across the sofa and he was kneeling in front of her, her legs over his shoulders… oh, yes, dammit, he was every bit as good at this as last time. Every circle and push against her core wound her tighter, and she clutched her fingers into his hair.

It didn’t take long, with his hands on her belly and his tongue between her legs, and she was sure that she was panting in a particularly unattractive way as she reached her high. As she lowered her feet to the floor, he stood, and she registered the metallic sound of his belt hitting the floor and narrowly missing her toes.

“Rey, let me in,” he whispered urgently, crowding her into the sofa, licking her breasts and then nuzzling into her collarbone. “Let me inside, Rey. Will you?” He’d produced a condom from somewhere, Rey didn’t know how, and he was already rolling it over his cock in anticipation. She was going to tell him not to bother, she was already pregnant and she’d not been with anyone else. Then she realised that of course he probably had. It bothered her, but she pushed the thought to the back of the queue.

In her moment of thought, she’d lost any advantage; he had one arm looped beneath her knees and the other round her back, lifting her off the sofa. He sat down in her stead, legs spread and her standing before him. He took her hands in his and beckoned her to straddle him, her knees by his hips, her core balanced over his cock. He nosed her hair aside to kiss along the side of her neck: “Yes? Rey? I want you. Take me in, Rey.”

It felt so perfectly lush, sinking down on him, his big hands pressing her hips down to speed her progress, his own hips rising from the sofa to meet her. “Oh, fuck, that’s good. Better than I remember,” she sighed, and he grunted in agreement, moving her to his own rhythm.

One of his hands stayed anchored on her hip, but the other took a strong grasp of her head, pulling her to him for another deep kiss. He was fucking her, kissing her and talking whenever he let her up for air: “You are so beautiful. So wet. Fuck, fuck… just so wet. Rey, Rey. I want you to come again,” the hand was gone from her hair and reappeared at her clit. He babbled filthy nonsense at her, but she was only taking in the timbre of his voice now, the bass of it, rather than the words. She buried her face in his neck to feel the sound of it. “Come again, Rey. Can you? Is this right?” He sped up the speed and pressure around her clit; she felt her breath catch, an urgent pleasure about to break.

“Yeah, Kylo, I … ummmm… can…. Just keep on… please.” He didn’t let up but slowed his thrusting to focus on his fingers, letting himself rub deep and steady. On and on. The pleasure held and built and held and built, his hand on her hips still controlling her motion, a pornographic monologue whispered into hair.

Rey broke. Every centimetre of her body curled and tingled with her release, and Kylo let himself go, too, narrating his orgasm with a litany of praise for her cunt. They slowed to an almost-stop, a minute gentle rocking, her eyes closed and her chin on top of his head, his face between her breasts, his pants rippling across her nipples.

Eventually, he raised his face enough to meet hers, and she lowered hers until she could feel his forehead against her own. She opened her eyes to find his regarding her with open admiration. Even with his cock still snug inside of her, Rey couldn’t help thinking that she probably – no, really, quite definitely – should not have done that.


	13. The Talk, Second Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for the comments and kudos - every single one is massively appreciated! 
> 
> So they do talk... some. Enough to gain some insight into each other. They should probably talk more, but they've got other business to attend to.

At some point, he’d opened up her ancient sofabed – the type where a naked man had good reason to fear that sensitive bits could be snapped off by the stubborn metallic support bar – and laid her across it and convinced her to spread her legs for him again. He brought her off again with his fingers, then crawled over her precious body, one hand on her bump and chased his own satisfaction.

He wasn’t previously aware of having a kink for pregnant women, but shagging Rey, knowing that the baby was safe inside, that he’d put it there… well, maybe it wasn’t a kink for pregnant women. Just a specific attraction to this woman and a primal satisfaction that… he really didn’t want to pursue that line of thinking. It’s not like he’d been in any real doubt of the efficacy of his sperm, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t need proof under his hand… but fuck, it was hot.

He hadn’t slept with the same girl twice since he started working for Snoke, and it felt like he’d been working for Snoke since infancy. He knew better than to form attachments.

Kylo lay on his back, Rey cuddled to his chest, one of his hands thoughtlessly carding through her hair as she slept. The cuddling wasn’t even by choice but necessity, as the sofabed wasn’t wide enough to accommodate them both. Even so, Kylo admitted to himself that he preferred her tucked up against him like this. This mattress was the worst – thin enough to feel every edge of the frame beneath - so maybe his chest was literally more comfortable than the alternative. Or maybe she was so light that she didn’t sink far enough into the thin padding. Why the hell did she sleep on this thing anyway? Her little studio was a study in life at the poverty line: a tiny fridge and no freezer, a toilet with the tank attached to the wall above it and a pull-flush, a shower cubicle not quite big enough for him to turn around, a sad brown hob and oven with the toaster grill above – he didn’t think such things had even been manufactured in Rey’s lifetime.

He’d need to get her more money to move; Finn could make sure it wasn’t traceable. She couldn’t very well raise his baby in this dump.

His baby. He needed to put a stop to that line of thinking right now. It was her baby. A project to which he could donate anonymously.

He looked down to see that the hand not occupied with her hair had settled over the baby. And then he felt her eyes on him.

“You’re awake?”

She nodded against his chest, not taking her eyes from his face. “You’re still here,” she said, voice clear and lucid.

“Yes. Would you like me to leave?”

“No.” Thoughtfully, “I’ve never slept with anyone before. I mean, just slept. Before you – that night and this.” She didn’t look angry, or frightened, or anything else that suggested he should leave her bed, such as it was.

“Neither have I,” he answered, and he watched his fingers glide through her hair. “Just that night in the hotel with you. I’ve not slept tonight, so I’m not sure it counts.” 

“Really? I didn’t sleep well at first, in the hotel. But… you’ve really not slept with anyone? Like, ever?”

What did she imagine him to be? He’d had sex with two women in the months since he’d met Rey – both picked up in clubs he’d been in for business, with Snoke watching him for signs of weakness – and he couldn’t recall either of their faces. He’d not even taken them home, just fucked them quickly in relatively secluded corridors - but no so secluded that the men around Snoke wouldn't see and report back - and he’d done it because Snoke considered it a show of strength. 

“As I said,” he shut down the line of questioning, “only you.” Rey nodded, head on the pillow, looking at the ceiling. Kylo rearranged himself around her, trying to turn on his side to face her in a way that didn’t make the mattress frame jab into his ribs. “About this flat,” a patch of damp on the wall that separated them from the bathroom caught his eye, “You cannot stay here.”

Rey turned to face him, too, her head propped on her folded arm. “This is the first room I’ve ever had to myself. It might not be much, but I pay the excess that housing benefit doesn’t cover by myself. It’s not loud and I can afford to heat it.”

“You can’t possibly want to stay in this place, Rey, and you shouldn’t try raising a baby here. Where would you even put a cot?” He was pretty sure that he could touch both walls if he stood in the centre of the room and stretched his arms out. “I’ll pay the rent on a bigger…”

“Uh-uh,” Rey was shaking her head furiously and glaring at him. “Not a chance. You’ll pay for somewhere until you decide not to, and I’ll be left with a bill that I can’t pay and debt and a mad scramble to find a new place with a bad reference from the last one. I am planning to move, but I’ll move to a place that I can afford on my own, thank you very much.”

With his head propped up on his hand, looking slightly down at the naked curl of her body under the duvet, he tried to puzzle out her words. “You truly are shite at gold-digging,” he finally said, and she snorted out a laugh.

“I still don’t think I’ve had an apology for that insult,” she pointed out.

He huffed out a breath and let his head fall onto his bicep, then glanced up at her. She was waiting, all hints at humour gone, her intelligent brown eyes watching him closely. “I am not sorry that I said it, only sorry that it hasn’t worked,” he told her straight. Her expression didn’t change, still waiting. “I had hoped to convince you to have nothing to do with me, to drop any attempt at making me the father, and I thought that if I could be as objectionable as possible, that maybe you would decide that any involvement with me just wasn’t worth it.”

Her eyes stayed on his, making up her mind what to tell him. He’s seen hundreds of defendants doing the same. “I had already made up my mind to have nothing to do with you. I made it up months ago. I stopped by your office…”

Kylo came up on his arm again: “Hux! He said that he’d seen you.”

“Yeah, he said something awful, but even before I saw him, I knew I wouldn’t go through with it, with seeking you out.” She looks a little uncomfortable with this topic.

“Why not? You knew that I had money…”

“I also knew that you were a lawyer, that you had power. I couldn’t risk it. Maybe you’d help, but it was just as likely you wouldn’t, and I don’t know, somehow you might take the baby away from me.” She shrugged and her voice hardened. “I just needed to be sure that the baby would stay with me. Better this little flat if we’re together.”

“And the baby is going to share the sofa bed? Because this thing is fucking uncomfortable…”

“Hey! Maybe you haven’t, but I’ve slept on way worse, and very often slept on nothing. I found it in the mews two blocks over, left out for the council to take,” she gave the back of the sofa and affectionate pat. “It was the biggest thing I could handle moving on my own. Took me ages,” she added, “but I really wanted it.”

Kylo snapped his mouth shut on the in-depth analysis he was about to share about how this bed would be a death trap for a child, as indeed it was for any adult. This sliver of an insight into Rey’s life stopped him cold.

“What do you mean by ‘slept on nothing’?” He could hear his voice softening, and he shifted a little closer to her.

She shifted her arm and lay down across it, lightly shaking out her wrist where she’d had her head propped on top of it. Kylo found himself taking her wrist in his fingers and massaging the blood back into her hand. “Foster families fill up, and they don’t always have beds straight away,” she explained matter-of-factly. “But for the first year after I turned 18, I pretty much slept on floors. Friends’ rooms, while I finished my A-levels, then the hallways of a local university dorm for a while, before they figured out that I wasn’t a student. The housing benefit came through seven months ago, after I moved to London.” Her eyes were focussed on his hands holding her wrist as she spoke. “Anyway, thanks to you I’ve a new job that pays enough to rent a slightly better flat. I wouldn’t want to be… how did you put it… an unfit parent.”

Kylo stopped his massage but let his fingers tangle with hers and pressed the back of her hand to the bed. “I’d like to apologise for all of that, ok? Can I just cover everything that I said with the one apology?” he huffed. “I was trying to warn you off me. I’ve explained, it’s unsafe for you to be connected to me.”

“You can’t have any relationships…”

“Not at the minute…”

“Not ever.” She looked at him with pity. “How sad.”

“You don’t even have a friend to write on the emergency contact list, for fuck’s sake.”

“Not now, but I will! I told you… I only arrived in London just before I met you, and I’d been busy starting a job and finding a place to live, then scavenging a bed and those shelves and that fridge.” She glared at him. “I was going to make friends. I was going to take classes. I _am_ going to make friends and take classes! This is just a place to start.”

God, she was young. Young and optimistic, but he didn’t share her fierce determination that she’d be fine. He’d have to funnel money to her in a way that bypassed Giovanni completely, to keep the man’s business clean and separate, but ideally no one else should know about her. He’d known Poe for too many years to think the investigator would endanger Rey; he’d keep the information about her connection to Kylo quiet. But anyone knowing was a risk, so he’d have to constantly re-evaluate her safety. And the question of how the police had known to look for her in the first place worried him greatly.

_Hey, fuckwit. If you wanted to keep her a secret, perhaps you shouldn’t be in her bed._ Kylo tried to shove the voice of reason and caution to the back of his consciousness, but it was useless. Paranoia was a state of being for him, a habit that kept him alive, and now it needed to keep Rey and the baby alive.

He needed to find the source of Poe’s leaked information and permanently plug it.

He also just needed her body one last time. He kept expecting her to call a stop to this, but he slid one hand beneath her waist and set the other on her hip, pulling her into his body. The concave where he’d been lying curled on his side created a snug cocoon for her belly, and her soft, warm skin pressed against the front of this body. When he kissed her, she opened her mouth for him, humming sweet little sighs under his tongue. He kept kissing her as he turned her away from him, on her side, her arse now pressed his abs, her head tilted back on the pillow and still beneath his mouth. He found her wet when he passed his fingers between her legs and began slowly working her over, her hips chasing his fingers to press closer. He didn’t even stop kissing her to roll on the condom and lift her upper leg over his hip to open her up.

Rey sighing a muted ‘yes’ against his tongue as he slid inside her nearly had him coming on the spot. The hand under her body reached up to secure a breast, the other circled between her legs; every so often, he let his fingers drift down to feel the push and pull of his cock sliding through her arousal. She rocked back onto him, breath shallow and fast every time he lifted his mouth from hers, then dove in again for an even deeper kiss. He could feel the fingernails of her upper hand on his arse, pulling him tighter against her. When she started moving with true desperation, and a series of her high-pitched pants filled his mouth, he let his fingers bear down against her clit. He thrust in hard and stayed there, his hips almost still, as she came, his thrusts deep and gentle until she’d stopped clenching around him, until her body relaxed in his arms. Then he pulled his mouth from hers, dropped his forehead to the curve of her neck, and he thrust hard and fast until her followed her.

When he finally raised his head to look at her, Rey’s clear eyes were looking right back, wide with wonderment, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. They stared at each other for what seemed a lifetime, not moving to separate their bodies, then kissing softly as their eyes drifted closed. Kylo silently ticked through all of the reasons that he should not see her again.


	14. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When someone tells you who they are, believe them the first time. - Maya Angelou

By 4am, Rey wasn’t sure how to accurately describe her emotions. Delight might be the word she was looking for, but she’d aced both her GCSE and A-level English exams, and she didn’t want to settle for such a mundane word for this overflowing feeling. The back of her head was cradled in the dip between Kylo’s shoulder and chest, and she was looking up at the ceiling, laughing, as his twenty-minute, in-depth explanation of the relative merits of the Assassin’s Creed series wound down.

“And you’re telling me that you’ve never played this?”

Smiling, Rey tried again: “I refer you to my previous explanation,” she tried to sound as lawyerly as she could, “that while pretty much every foster family had a PS or an Xbox or a Wii, they never had 16 or 18-rated games. All games had to be suitable for younger children. So it was a shedload of Lego adventures and Crash and Bandicoot and Fifa.”

“Of all the sad-arse stories I’ve heard about your childhood tonight, I think this is the worst,” he deadpanned, running his hands through her hair. Rey was near to purring.

_Blissed out_. That was a better descriptor. But it didn’t capture the sharp undercurrent of a happiness so extraordinary it was tinged with a near-panic.

Because Rey had been listening; she always listened to what people told her about themselves. Kylo was honest with her about how dangerous the situation was, even if he was unconsciously telling her that he wanted to come back tomorrow night and the next and the next. She’d known little enough affection in her life to zero in on it like a missile now that she’d spotted it. But his affection for her didn't matter against the hard reality of who he was. 

“You got to build go-carts with actual engines from scratch and drive them around a country estate. Everyone’s childhood is sad-arse compared to yours.” Rey glanced up and back at the stiff expression this produced on his face. He hadn’t mentioned or discussed his parents, but she could tell it that something sinister was going on there.

His hand paused in its path behind her ear, then he picked up his fingers and began the motion again, his fingers at her hairline. “I suppose it’s all relative,” he finally answered.

“A lawyer’s answer.”

“You knew what I was before you got into this sorry excuse for a bed with me.” She could hear every layer of meaning to his words, however lightly he delivered them. He was going to leave in order to protect her from what he was, and the warm, soppy heart of her froze over. Actions had consequences, and didn’t she fucking know it.

“Poe told me that you had another name. That you weren’t really Kylo Ren.” Rey played her last card. She turned onto him, propping her arm on his chest and her head on top of that: she wanted to see his eyes as he answered this. “He said that your real name is Ben Solo.”

The effect was explosive. “Ben Solo is dead,” he snapped at her. “My real name is the one I gave you. Poe has no idea…” he trailed off, too angry to finish his thought, the look on his face murderous. So there’s the mafia boss, right there, she thought to herself, watching his face morph into a mask of criminality. “Do not think that there is some other, better person here to be resurrected. I am who I have told you I am.”

Rey nodded, pulling back. “Okay. I understand.” She sat up, the duvet sliding off her naked body. He was right; it was better that he walked away, that she and the baby weren’t caught up in whatever dark world Kylo moved in. “It’s nearly dawn. Can you stay until it’s light out?”

The anger seemed to have fled as quickly as it came on him. “I can,” he replied, holding out his arm, offering her a space to snuggle into his body. She lay her head back down on his chest and waited for his breathing to even out before she allowed herself to follow. When she woke again, the late midwinter sunrise was still an hour off, but Kylo was sitting on the edge of the bed, his suit on and hair brushed. He was hovering over her, lost in thought.

“Good morning,” she called him back to the present. He looked startled at the sound of her voice and turned to rest his hands on her. Which is when she noticed the clutch of pound notes in his right hand. “Oh my God, Kylo. Please tell me that you are not about to give me money after we’ve just had sex.”

He threw his hands up, placating. “Rey. That is not how I meant it…”

“Just,” she pushed him aside, weighing into his shoulder, “just, no money, okay? No bribes. I’m not for sale. _We_ are not for sale.”

Kylo looked at her sadly. “I know you’re not. I just want to help. Somehow.”

“You have. I have a job that pays more than twice what I was making with Plutt and doesn’t even require me to show up to it.” She couldn’t get out of bed fast enough, pulling her robe from a hook over the sofa and securing it loosely around her bump. “I don’t want your money.” She wouldn’t tell him what she wanted: she wanted more of whatever last night was. Wherever that might go. She wanted, deep in a place that she wouldn’t admit to, not to be lonely. And she truly liked him. But as she’d long since come to realise, lonely was better than being surrounded by people who didn’t want you. Or might hurt you.

“It’s all I have to give to you, Rey – the money. I can’t risk coming here again.”

She busied herself with folding away the bed, until he nudged her aside and did it for her. She stood to one side, watching someone help her perform a domestic task, and thought about how useful that would be with a baby. “It’s okay. I understand. You should get going then.”

Rising after returning the last of the sofa cushions to its place, Kylo looked down on her with an open expression of regret. “At least please don’t worry about money. I’ll find a way to make sure…”

“Yeah, it’s okay, Kylo. I _understand_. No more contact. I won’t be setting the CMS on you…”

He pulled her into his chest. “You won’t need to, Rey. I won’t leave the two of you to struggle.” It was far more than she’d expected a week ago. And if she felt her heart cracking open a little at the thought of him leaving her all alone, her practical self knew that she was no longer going to need to count her pennies for bus fare and that she should be grateful. The moment that he left, she promised herself, she would walk to the newsagent and sort herself a monthly pass on her Oyster. That might cheer her up. “I’m sorry, Rey.” He was kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.” He tilted her chin up to him and pressed a kiss goodbye to her lips. Then he picked up his heavy overcoat and left, all quickly enough that Rey didn’t have time to burst into tears.

When the door clicked shut behind him, Rey sat on the sofa with her half-eaten box of strawberries, tossing them one after the other into the rubbish bin next to the kitchen counter as she cursed her stupid, hormonal infatuation.

She would go to the newsagent just as soon as she stopped crying.

***

By the following evening, Rey was still deep in her funk, despite having made us of her monthly pass to take the Tube to Oxford Circus and see the Christmas lights. What she wanted was to curl up in her scruffy flat with a book, all alone, and try to forget that Kylo Ren existed. However, she’d promised Mrs Amata that she’d come over for dinner, so she found herself standing on the doorstep of a detached house in Muswell Hill, explaining to the man who’d answered the door that she was expected.

Now that Rey knew about the Amatas’ business connections, she realised that the man looked nothing like a butler and a great deal like hired muscle.

“Rey!” Mrs Amata sang out from somewhere down the hallway. “Come in, mia cara!” The burly man at the door stepped aside with a professionally polite smile and pointed the way towards the back of the house. Rey could have sniffed her way there like a hunting dog, anyway; the thick, rich aroma coming from the kitchen was enough to make Rey momentarily forget the ache in her chest.

All five of the burners on Mrs Amata’s pristine, 5-burner stovetop were bubbling and sizzling, the peppers on a cast iron grill popped loudly as she entered. The kitchen was more than twice the size of Rey’s flat, and a set of double French doors gave onto a garden that was lit with twinkling lanterns and an crackling fire in a pit, surrounded by plush outdoor armchairs. Jazz hummed around the room from an unseen sound system on the stone deck, and above it Rey could make out the sounds of conversation. She was not the only guest at this dinner.

Mrs Amata kissed her on both cheeks and pressed a fizzy, red cocktail into her hand. “Benvenuta, Rey,” she smiled. “Don’t worry,” she patted Rey’s tummy affectionately, “It’s cranberry juice, lime and sparkling water. I’m so happy you made it tonight.” With one arm wrapped around Rey’s shoulder, Mrs Amata slowly led her towards the open doors. “I hope you like aubergine,” she chattered, “It’s melanzane parmigiana tonight, but there’s chicken for secondi if you are not a fan.” Rey had no idea what half of those words meant, and she’d never had aubergine in all her life, but she was not a fussy eater and it certainly all smelled amazing. “Now I can’t have people in my kitchen when I cook – it’s a sin, perhaps, but the Pope himself would not be welcome in here until it’s all ready for the table.”

Rey found herself on the deck, facing two people who were already occupying chairs around the fire. It was warm here – glancing around, Rey saw that two of those heat lamps she’d seen on the patios of trendy pubs and cafes were pumping heat onto the deck as well. Mrs Amata steered her into chair by the fire, opposite the other guests, between one of the lamps and the fire. Still, Mrs Amata lifted a soft woollen blanket from the back of the chair and tucked it around Rey’s shoulders. “We can’t take chances with a chill in your condition, cara,” she fussed.

“I don’t believe you two have met my brilliant mechanic, Rey,” she spoke to the others. A man and a woman took her in, the look on their faces a bit more… intense… than Rey might have expected. The man was perhaps in his sixties, the woman a good decade younger, and he stood as Mrs Amata began her introduction. Rey wondered what the etiquette was, if she should stand up to shake his hand, but Mrs Amata had just tucked her into the blanket and still hand a territorial hand on her shoulder.

“Rey, these are my very close friends Leia,” she indicated the petite woman in the chair, “and Han.”


	15. The Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so, so much for your comments and kudos!!

Han reached across the space between them and offered Rey his hand; she had to lean over only slightly to shake it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rey,” he said, and his voice had a distinctive rumble to it, his smile genuine and joyful, holding onto her hand just a few seconds longer than usual.

Leia seemed thunderstruck and said nothing for a moment, then seemed to shake herself out of it. “How lovely to meet you, Rey. Guilia has said wonderful things about you.” That seemed odd. As much as Rey liked Mrs Amata, they didn’t know each other terribly well.

Mrs Amata laughed a bit too precipitously. “Now, Rey, Han here has a vast collection of cars. Some older than he is and in far worse shape than my poor little Peppe. He works on them nonstop, so I know that you two will have plenty in common.” She gave Rey a pat on the back and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Han asked her about cars, what she liked to work on, how she’d become interested in being a mechanic, had she studied it at school. He was a bright and engaging conversationalist, chattering away about his favourite old salvaged race cars and his love of taking them out to drive as fast as he possibly could on the dirt tracks of their farm outside of London. One anecdote about one of his cars breaking down in midwinter in the Siberian tundra had Rey laughing until she thought that she was going to pee herself.

Dinner was exquisite, course after course of bright flavours and brighter company. Leia was a judge in the criminal courts and had a multitude of anecdotes of her own. She also asked Rey about her childhood, and Rey found herself feeling unusually willing to discuss it; after all, the woman was a judge, she’d seen and heard about the worst of childhood neglect, no doubt, cases far graver than Rey’s.

So Rey told them about growing up in the system, moving from home to home until she aged out. Both Guilia and Leia were guided by Rey’s matter-of-fact recounting, but Han looked quietly struck by it, sitting in uncharacteristic silence as the women asked about all the places in the UK that she had moved, and what finally drew her to London.

By the time they had all retired to the garden once again for dessert, Rey felt that she knew them all quite well.

“How far along are you?” Leia enquired politely, her feet tucked beneath her in the big garden chair.

“21 weeks. Actually,” she said around a bite of tiramisu, “I have a scan coming up next week.”

“Oh, that’s an exciting one. You can ask to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl,” Mrs Amata enthused.

Leia took a sip of her dessert wine and asked, “Do you want to know, Rey?”

Rey shrugged. Honestly she’d forgotten all about the scan until just now, what with the fainting on the road, and the return of her appetite, and her firing and then hiring… and with Kylo… Well, she had been busy lately. “I don’t think so. I think I’m not ready to know.”

Han cleared his throat, nodding in agreement with her decision. “How old are you, Rey?” Rey nearly laughed at the look that both women shot him, but Han’s eyes were on her, so he didn’t notice. She had a feeling Han had perfected not noticing when he crossed a social line.

“I’m 20,” she volunteered, and Han’s hands curled into fists on the table. One of them had been holding a tumbler of whiskey, however, and that shattered in his grip.

“Han!” Leia gasped, and Mrs Amata ran into the kitchen to return with a tea towel. As the women tended his bleeding hand, and Rey stared on in shock, Han picked up the thread of their conversation as though nothing had transpired.

“20?” Han snuffed a bitter laugh. “Leia, Rey’s 20 years old.”

“Yes, I heard her, Han. I am sitting right here,” she almost hissed at him. She was trying to hold him still and pick the glass from his bloodied palm. 

“You must have finished your school exams… what are we in, December? About a year and a half ago?” He seemed to be building up a head of steam with this. “You’re not old enough to rent a car.”

Rey laughed. “I suppose that’s true, but anyway, I’ve not had the money to get a license or take lessons…”

Han stood so abruptly that Rey flinched and shrank back in her chair, and the man’s sharp eyes picked up on her reaction. “And you’ve been hit, too, haven’t you?” he demanded, his uninjured index finger pointing at her.

“Only in one home, and they got me out of there pretty fast,” she explained, not knowing what had made him so angry, so quickly.

“And the man who… your boyfriend… the…” he waved his hands at her belly in frustration, “the father, did he hit you? Did he force you?”

Leia stood up and gave him a powerful shove for a very small woman. “Han! That is none of your business by a very long way!”

Shocked, Rey answered anyway, shaking her head: “No, he didn’t. He would never…” Rey paused in her defence of Kylo. She assumed he would never; he’d seemed pretty focussed on consent.

Han’s face had gone red and his jaw was chewing over words he was holding back, when Leia intervened again: “Go,” she gave him another push towards the house, “go and clean up that hand. If it doesn’t stop bleeding, it’ll be a trip to A&E. And when you get back here, you’re apologising to Rey!”

Han didn’t seem to need much time to reconsider his actions. Tightening his hold on the tea towel, he turned to Rey. “I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t… none of that was about you. I was out of line.” He sighed. “You’re a sweet kid, too sweet for that man to have just left you, and someone really ought to teach him a lesson…” Leia gave him another shove. With that, he slunk off to the downstairs WC to tend to his hand. Mrs Amata followed him, mumbling about bandages and antiseptic cream.

Leia sank back into her chair, a small pile of glass shards on the coffee table in front of her. “I’m sorry that my husband is such an arse,” she smiled ironically. “He means well, but he’s hotheaded and lacks any sort of social filter.”

Rey tried to collect her thoughts. “I don’t like talking about him – the baby’s father,” she explained firmly.

“And you don’t have to, either,” Leia reached across the coffee table and patted Rey’s hand.

“He’s not around and won’t be around and that’s just how it is,” Rey ploughed on. Leia winced a little. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my baby by myself.”

Leia smiled broadly. “I have no doubt of that, my dear, none at all. You are so level-headed and mature. That baby is lucky to have you for a mother.”

Suddenly, Rey wanted to cry. Leia reminded her of the few really encouraging teachers that she’d had at school; in her life since, she’d not had much in the way of affirmation. To her horror, she realised that she was indeed crying, and that Leia had shifted to sit next to her and give her a warm, reassuring hug. “You really think so? I can’t remember my parents… sometimes I worry that I won’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry, love. You will be amazing,” Leia soothed.

“Do you have any children?”

Leia’s expression tightened. “Yes, a son. We don’t see as much of him as we’d like.”

“Oh,” Rey said, now feeling even worse for bringing that up. The reappearance of Han and Mrs Amata saved her from the awkwardness of the moment, the former looking contrite and the latter as if she’d spent the last few minutes making him that way.

“Does he need stitches, Guilia?” Leia asked, taking his hand and inspecting it in the light from open kitchen doors.

“No. A few lessons in manners, perhaps, but the hand has stopped bleeding.”

Han gave Rey a world-weary, crooked smile as he sat down, and somehow Giulia managed to salvage the evening, shifting the conversation back to the safe topic of cars.

When Rey stood up to head home, Han stopped her and apologised again. “You know, kid, you could let me make it up to you. How about some driving lessons? Can’t have a mechanic who doesn’t know how to drive a car.”

Rey nearly leapt at him to hug him, and even if she managed to restrain herself from that humiliating reaction, she was pretty sure from Han’s cocksure expression that her excitement was written all over her face. “I would love that. Love it. Thank you!”

“No problem,” she caught him sneaking a look at Leia, to be sure of her approval, and she found it rather adorable that this tall, striking man was waiting her permission to proceed. His wife squeezed his uninjured hand and he winked at her. “Mrs Amata, can you pick up Rey at her flat on Sunday?” She nodded. “I know a man who owns some warehouses just past the North Circular, and there’s a big parking lot that will be pretty much empty all day. I’ll meet you there.”

“It was wonderful to meet you, Rey. I hope to see you again, soon,” Leia gave her another warm hug. “Good luck with the scan.”

Rey thanked Mrs Amata again for the dinner and was handed a paper bag full of Tupperware containers: “Just a little extra for another meal.” Yeah, Rey thought with a glance at the amount of food, if I invite half the building around for tea.

At the door, Mrs Amata’s bodyguard held out her coat to her. “I’ll drive you back,” he explained.

“Oh, I don’t need a ride,” she said. “It’s just a bus ride away…”

He looked her up and down. “I insist,” he said. “If you don’t care to take the car, I will be happy to follow you home by Tube or bus. But I have been asked to see you safely home, and I will do so.” Rey shrugged in resignation and let him drive her home. She felt ridiculous stepping out a shiny Range Rover in front of her decrepit block of flats, an impeccably dressed man holding the door for her as she drew her green overcoat around herself.

Rey barely had room in her little fridge for all of Mrs Amata’s food containers, and popping open one at random, she realised that it wasn’t leftovers from the meal, but entirely new dishes that had been cooked specifically for her. She dug through until she found the one that inevitably held canoli.

The scent of Kylo’s cologne still clung to the sofa cushions, so she spread out with her plastic box of cannoli balanced on her belly and let herself bury her nose in the sofa for a moment to pull out any last trace of him. Licking the sweet ricotta from her fingers, Rey patted her bump. For the first time in her life, Rey had the money and independence to determine her own life. She’d start tomorrow, with estate agents, and find herself and the baby a new home.


	16. The Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this one has taken; t'is a busy, busy season! Thank you once again for all your comments and kudos - I am so very, very grateful for them.

“He’s not a rapist, Han. For God’s sake, whatever his other sins, he did not force Rey to do anything.”

“She’s little more than a teenager. He’s a grown man…”

“He’s 27.”

“I know how old my son is!” Han yelled, his uninjured hand slapping the steering wheel. They’d made it roughly 30 seconds from Giulia’s front door before her husband had exploded. “That’s a world of difference and you know it, princess. She’s not just young, she’s vulnerable. No family, no friends, no one to advise her.”

“Well, how very fortunate for her that’s she’s run into you,” Leia snapped back. “You will be able to dole out your wisdom and solve all of her problems.” Leia turned her head to look out the passenger side window. “Besides, you don’t know that Ben leaving her is a problem for her at all. It’s probably for the best that he’s not having anything to do with her.”

Han gripped the wheel so tightly that Leia could smell fresh blood from the cut on his palm. “He knocked up a 20-year-old girl and then walked away, Leia.”

“He fixed that job for her, working for Giulia…”

“After he murdered her boss and let his slimeball business partner appoint someone who fired her.”

“He went straight to the hospital when they called…”

“After he neglected her and overwork made her so ill that she passed out of the street.”

“He didn’t know, Han,” Leia sighed. She didn’t really want to be taking Ben’s part in this, defending his actions, but Han needed to be clear-headed about this. They both did. “Not before the hospital called. Finn said that Ben was shocked, and that he immediately tried to help her.” Leia reached across the gear box for his bloodied left hand and took hold of it. “You can’t always jump to the worst conclusion about him. Ben has lost his way, but maybe this will be his call back to the light.”

“Is that what Finn is telling you? That Ben’s seen the error of his ways and he’s going to help Poe take down Snoke?” Leia could see his raised eyebrow across the darkened car. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Even your man on the ground reports that he does as Snoke asks, consistently.”

Leia really did not want to cry. Finn’s reports did not support a narrative of reform; Ben was essentially doing little more than paying child maintenance for a baby he never intended to see or hold or love. Still, Rey had been everything that Giulia had said and more - kind, good, mature beyond her years, intelligent, capable – and Leia knew that she had to set Ben to one side and focus on building a relationship with Rey.

“Princess,” Han was stroking her hand now, “I’m sorry that I snapped. We promised, didn’t we, that we wouldn’t let him cause any more fights between us?” Now he sighed, eyes straight ahead on the road. “That girl though, she’s just so…. So…”

“Lonely,” Leia finished, and her husband nodded solemnly in agreement. “She’s so alone.”

“She’s got us, now,” Han vowed quietly. “I say we just tell her.”

“No, Han. Finn told us how paranoid Ben was about anyone finding out about her. We have to believe he has good reason for that, and right now Snoke doesn’t seem to know anything about her. For now, we just try to take care of her as best we can.”

Han gritted his teeth, growing furious again, “I am not lying to an orphan who has never had any family. And we are _legitimately _her family. That’s our grandchild.”

“And the baby is safest if Snoke is unaware of his or her existence. Do you want to lose another child to that evil bastard?” Leia pushed. She watched her husband tighten his grip and bleed onto the leather-wrapped steering wheel of his beloved Ford Falcon. “Han, we will watch and wait. We will let Finn do his job, let Poe do his job, and we will keep working to take down Snoke. We will do everything we can for Rey.”

“Except tell her the truth,” he seethed.

“Except for that. Come on, now, we need to present a united front here, or he’ll walk all over us,” Leia peered ahead up the long, pitch-black drive as Han turned off the main road and toward the house. She could already make him out, pacing impatiently in the dim light from the open front door. He was on them before Han had even managed to switch off the ignition.

“Wait – where is she? You haven’t brought her back with you?” Her brother’s fury rivalled Han’s.

Leia put up a warning hand: “Luke, we’ve been over this. She is a young woman with her own life to lead and …”

Luke threw his hands into the air and stomped a circle around the car, finally stopping at Han. “You cannot possibly agree with her. Han! I’ve told you time and again, all the signs point to Snoke destroying anyone who proves a distraction to Ben…”

“I know!” Han roared back, slamming the door to the Falcon shut in his anger. He strode up the stairs to the front door, throwing a “Talk to Leia!” over his shoulder.

“Leia, you have to bring that girl here, so that we can protect her…”

Leia rushed up the front steps behind Han. “Not again, not tonight, Luke, please. Enough for now.”

Her brother quietened down and followed her into the house. “Not tonight, Leia, but soon. She’s not safe, and you need to do something about it.”

…

“So it’s between a 2 bedroom in Wood Green and a one bedroom in Crouch End?” Kylo looked displeased.

“Yeah,” Finn repeated, sipping his coffee from his spot on the chair in front of Kylo’s desk, “she can’t decide whether she wants the extra space of the bigger flat, or the better neighbourhood of the smaller flat.”

“And neither of them are in secure buildings?” Kylo was looking at the satellite images of the locations that Finn had printed at a copy shop down the street.

Finn shook his head. “No. The smaller one is in a good neighbourhood, but I know that you wanted a locked front entranceway at the very least.”

Kylo huffed back in his desk chair, exasperated. “This is ridiculous. She’s set her ceiling on price way too low – she’ll never find anything suitable for £1,000 a month.”

“Sir, I thought I’d have a quick look around for a more suitable flat…” Kylo leaned forward with interest. “I found a 2 bedroom, on the other side of Ally Pally, near good schools and between two local playparks…” Kylo raised an eyebrow; playgrounds were not remotely what he wanted to hear about, even it had been Rey’s first concern, according to the man he’d questioned. “The estate agent assured me that the other tenants take locking the front entranceway seriously. I can have the front door of the flat itself changed to something with a reinforced steel core before she views it and have all of the windows replaced with bullet-proof glass and locking steel frames. It’s a low crime bubble, not near the Tube but good for buses. Second floor.”

Kylo nodded his approval. “How much over her monastic budget?”

“It’s £2600 a month. I’ll need to bribe the estate agent and make the repairs, then set up a fund for her extra rent…” Kylo was already unlocking a drawer at the bottom of his desk and counting out a stack of cash. Finn stood and retrieved his jacket from the coatrack next to his own desk, then returned to slip the money into his inside jacket pocket. “Also,” Finn continued, “she put a bathtub near the top of her priority list, and this flat has a shower…”

Kylo sighed. “Then get a plumber in and rip out the shower. Tell the landlord we’ll pay extra on top of the renovation. Make sure it’s luxurious; if she wants a place to have a bath, then she’ll want something special.”

Finn smiled at his boss. “I’ll go convince the estate agent that the other two are unavailable, but he has an excellent deal in mind for her, within budget. He’ll need to come up with a good story to make her believe this flat costs so little.”

“Thank you, Finn. Get the work done today and tomorrow so that she doesn’t grow impatient and move into a squat in Elephant or something.” Kylo tapped the desk, thinking. “Oh, and make sure it’s furnished… the girl has nothing to her name… buy a bed, sofa, chairs, lamps, rugs, tv… everything.”

Finn turned to leave, but stopped and faced the desk again: “Mr Ren, I meant to tell you: Mr Hux was snooping around my desk earlier today when I returned from the kitchen with coffee. There’s nothing he could have seen, but… I know you wanted to be informed whenever it happens.”

Kylo thanked Finn as he left, then shredded the estate agent printouts and then turned back to his computer screen. Snoke had been on the move, overseeing a deal in Manchester that had left 3 men dead, and Kylo had dedicated the entire week to erasing their existences from every official register. No report of their deaths had been filed so far, so it was possible that Snoke had lucked out, and the three men had been estranged from their families, or so far from home that they wouldn’t be missed for some time.

Everywhere Snoke went, bodies were left behind in his wake. There had been 17 scattered across 4 countries in the last month. The man was growing reckless.

As Kylo finished his final check, making sure that no stray family members were coming forward to ask about the dead men, he mentally ticked himself off for referring to Snoke’s luck. It wasn’t luck that the men had no one asking about them: Snoke purposefully isolated his employees from any family connections. And Kylo should know.

A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Uncle Luke was scolding him: “Now it’s not just your parents you’re throwing away. It’s your own child. It’s Rey.” He dug the heel of his hand into the space above his eyes, trying to force the voice out.

Kylo couldn’t have grown up in the Skywalker/Organa orbit without developing a perfectly clear sense of right and wrong. Even his father – a former smuggler working freelance for organised crime himself – had turned his back on that life and been strictly legitimate since marrying into a prestigious and very law-abiding family. But his father’s old contact Snoke had come sniffing around for talent, and a spot of revenge against Han, and he took a flattering and active interest in Ben Solo’s legal training.

Kylo threw his empty mug at the wall, hard enough to shatter and leave a satisfying dent in the drywall; a little violence always cleared his head faster than any amount of Luke’s pointless meditating; it stopped the intrusive thoughts. The regrets. The urge to murder Snoke’s dog: Armitage Hux.

Kylo was what Snoke had made him, he supposed, but even Snoke had no idea what Kylo had become. And he needed to keep it that way.

…

It was five days before Christmas when Rey sank into the enormous, floral-print sofa; she’d never seen anything like it. She let herself tip over to the side and rub her face into the soft fabric, very glad that the estate agent had left quickly after meeting her to drop off the keys so that she could luxuriate in her new flat without anyone’s eyes on her embarrassing behaviour. She popped her feet up on the simple, dark wood coffee table. The thing felt solid across the backs of her calves, no doubt made of real wood rather than pressboard covered in laminate.

Giulia had sent her car and driver to help move her in, but - given that her possessions amounted to four cardboard boxes, one duffel bag and a battered suitcase - Rey was pretty sure he’d felt it was a wasted journey. He had disappeared as soon as he’d delivered the suitcase to the bedroom and the boxes to the kitchen. From where she sat, she could see into the little kitchen, with its shiny, ceramic-blue oven and matching fridge, its cheery yellow-tiled splashback behind a wide, white sink, its generous expanse of hardwood worktops. The whole place felt like it had been decorated specifically for her. And to think that this amazing flat was something she could now afford all on her own! The landlord’s definition of furnished blew her away – there was pretty, squat kettle and a 2-slice toaster, a small microwave as well as a washer and dryer, a brand new television – she just shook her head, not believing her luck.

With a grin, Rey twirled around the front room, a thick, green rug protecting her toes from the hardwood floors. She let her fingers trail along the freshly-painted wall as she checked out the bedrooms: the first contained a stunningly large bed with a new mattress, and Rey could hardly wait until that night, when she’d be falling asleep with that beneath her slightly achy back. She popped open the suitcase and pulled out a little framed photo - the print-out from her scan - and placed it on the bedside table. 

But she paused at the little room next to hers, empty but painted a warm, pale yellow, with billowy white curtains across the large window that overlooked a quiet park. It was almost as if it had been set up to be a nursery, not that Rey had any intention of letting her baby sleep in a different room for a good long while. But someday her child would want his or her own room, and this would be perfect. 

She nearly skipped back out into the kitchen to dig through her boxes, finally finding the little bottle of hotel bubble bath in the next-to-last. She set it proudly on the edge of the enormous bathtub/shower and was about to start running herself a bath, when her doorbell rang. Thinking that the estate agent must have forgotten some instruction or other, she opened the front door, only to be confronted by Giulia’s driver, his arms filled with a crisp carboard box. Behind him stood the largest man that Rey had ever seen, a tall, bushy Christmas tree clutched in his right hand and held effortlessly off the ground.

“Sorry to disturb you again, Ms Smith…” the driver began. Rey shook her head to indicate that this was no trouble. “But this…” he gestured to the shaggy-haired, bearded man next who hulked over him, “is a man who works for Han and Leia. They wanted to send you a little housewarming present.” He smiled encouragingly.

Rey blinked. “Han and Leia sent me an entire Christmas tree?” She knew that Giulia’s friends had taken a liking to her, and her first driving lesson with Han had been incredible fun, but this was… well. Bloody hell.

“And a box of ornaments and lights,” the driver added, holding up the box. A silence settled between them all as Rey kept staring in shock. The giant finally broke the impasse by grunting loudly and waving the tree at the door. “Um, would you allow us inside to set it up for you, Ms Smith?”

Still grappling with her confusion, Rey stepped aside. By the time she’d turned around, the larger man had dropped a stand onto the floor in a corner of her front room and was looking at her questioningly, one overgrown eyebrow raised. Rey understood that he was asking her if that was the right spot, so she offered, “Yes, that looks a good spot. Thank you.”

The giant made an odd noise that seemed to signal approval and made quick work of slotting the tree into place and ensuring it was standing straight. The scent of fresh cedar infused the whole room, and Rey breathed in dramatically. “Oh my God, that smells glorious,” she enthused, bouncing on her toes in excitement. At this, the giant grinned at her and dug a string of lights from the cardboard box. He wound them expertly into place and plugged them in.

Rey took one look at the twinkling, sparkling tree that was making her London flat smell like a pristine winter forest, and she promptly burst into tears. Giulia’s driver shuffled towards the door in alarm, but the giant strode over to her without a second thought and threw his enormous arms around her, gently lifting her into a warm hug before setting her carefully back on her feet. He handed her the rag he’d been using to protect his hand as her carried the tree, and she blew her nose noisily into it. The he turned to the driver and growled at him, waving his big hands excitedly.

“Chewbacca here says to tell you, ‘Merry Christmas’,” the driver translated. “He can’t speak,” he added in a lower voice, though clearly this Chewbacca had no trouble hearing, glaring at the driver. He grunted a few more syllables and Rey now recognised that he was using sign language with the driver. “He says to remind you that Han will take you out driving tomorrow; Chewie will come by himself to pick you up, if that’s okay?”

Rey, who was still blubbering through an onslaught of emotion, only managed to nod. Chewie patted her head and headed out the door with the driver, closing it securely behind them. She peered into the box of ornaments and dripped tears over bright baubles as she considered where to hang each one. As her emotions steadied, Rey suddenly grabbed for her phone, found a Spotify playlist of festive music, and for the first time ever in her life, she decorated a Christmas tree.


	17. The Merry Christmas

“A little easier on the clutch… that’s it, find the biting point… now, release the handbrake and … ha! You’ve got it, kid!” Rey was grinning ear-to-ear as she mastered the hill start on the second try, rolling back not a centimetre as she guided Han’s Falcon up a dirt track at the back of the empty industrial estate. “Now take her down to that lot ahead and we’ll work on your steering – you were still pulling to the right on that last pass.”

“I keep thinking I’m going to whack a wing mirror against something on the side of the track,” she admitted.

“I don’t think so, kid,” Han was sprawled out in the passenger seat, looking completely relaxed. “You’re a natural. Even easier to teach than…” He faltered. “Than my son was. And he’s a talented driver, like he’s one with the car. The boy can focus... he was beating his old man at races by the time he was 13.” 

Rey hadn’t known Han and Leia for long, but she knew better than to ask about their son, even if she was insanely envious of racing cars with a parent at 13. Whatever had happened with their son, it seemed to be a painful topic, best avoided. “Maybe you’re just a great driving instructor,” she said instead. “I bet I’ll pass the test first time.”

Han laughed, deep and infectious. “You’d better. My reputation is on the line, here. Have you been studying the theory test link that I sent you?”

“I have the test booked for the end of January, and once it’s done I can book the driving test, although…” she looked down at the front of her, “I guess I’ll need to wait until… after… for that last bit. I won’t fit behind the wheel for much longer.”

Rey didn’t know where the next hour and a half went, but by the time she parallel parked into a tight spot by the site office caravan at the front of the lot, she felt ready to drive on the streets, as Han had promised they would next time. She would have begged him to let her try now, but after over two hours of driving, she needed to pee. Badly. She practically ran into the little office loo after throwing the car into park. By the time she came back, sheepishly apologising for running off, Han was leaning against the bonnet of the car with flask of tea and a package of biscuits.

“Don’t worry,” he laughed, “I’m not so old that I can’t remember what pregnant women are like. Here,” he held out a mug and proffered the biscuits, “have some tea. Leia would kill me if I didn’t make sure you were fed and hydrated.” He waved vaguely at her middle as sat herself down on the bonnet, still engine-warm. “How are you doing, anyway?” He asked, slightly embarrassed.

Rey shrugged. “All seems to be well. The scan went fine, and, oh!” Rey thrust her mug at him and hopped down from the bonnet, then fished her backpack out of the open window of the car. She pulled out her wallet and then smiled triumphantly when she found what she was looking for. She handed it over to Han and gratefully picked up her mug of tea, pressing the tips of her fingers into the warm ceramic to defrost them. “I forgot I had more of these, they printed out like four… I already framed one and put it by my bed. I know, I’m being a sap, but it’s funny because you can really see the profile of the little face in this one, and see that little fist?” Rey rattled on about the scan photo until she noticed Han’s face. He was studying that photo with a great deal more attention than the polite disinterest that she’d expected. And was he… was he _crying_?

“That’s a really great picture, kid,” he finally said, voice quiet and soft. His eyes were a little wet when he handed the photo back to her, and Rey was beyond pleased that someone she knew cared about this photo with even a fraction of the pride and amazement that she did. She had intended to show Giulia, but no one else she knew would even give it a second glance.

Han stood up and busied himself with putting the flask back in the car. “Chewie will be here any minute to drive you back,” he said at last. “I texted him when we parked up.”

Rey tucked the photo away and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. She was handing back the empty mug when Chewie’s Land Rover pulled into the lot. “Thank you for the lesson. We still on for next Sunday?” Han nodded wordlessly, uncharacteristically quiet. “Oh, be sure to pass on my thanks to Leia once again for the tree – that was such an amazing housewarming present!”

Han opened the passenger door of Chewie’s car for her, awkwardly patting her back by way of goodbye. When Chewie grunted at him and signalled something, Han made a motion of brushing it away. “Later,” he muttered at his friend, then, “I’ll see you next week, kid. Happy Christmas.”

Rey looked at him, head tilted to one side, taking in his sudden sadness. “You too, Han.” With her safe in the car, Han shut the door and pounded it twice, and Chewie drove her onto the road home.

…

Poe took the coffee from Leia, grimacing only slightly at the amount of sugar and cream he could smell wafting up from the mug. He liked expresso, without sugar or milk, just a quick, pure, bitter hit of caffeine that would get him through the next hour. This was like drinking bedtime milk at 11am. Rose was lapping it up like a cat and reaching for the biscuits that Luke had dropped onto the coffee table, under orders from his sister. Luke didn’t look inclined to drink his coffee, either.

“So we have enough to put Kylo away?” Luke asked, while Leia was still in the kitchen.

Apparently, she heard him anyway. “Don’t call him by that ridiculous name!” She strode back in with a sharp look for her brother.

“He calls _himself_ that!” Luke answered, irritated. “He’s called himself that for 6 years. He was called to the bar by that ridiculous name.”

“His name is Ben,” Leia sat across from Poe and set her mug down with a decisive crack. “And what we want to know is whether we have enough to put away Snoke.”

Poe stopped himself from shifting in his seat under Leia’s stern gaze. This investigation had taken over his life: the interviews with the surviving relatives of Snoke’s victims, with any business associates that were desperate enough to speak with the police, with other police forces and investigative units around the world. Poe had enough on Snoke to send him to space. “Leia, we have everything we need. The problem is still the conditions that we set ourselves when we began this investigation: if we take down Snoke, it’s impossible to imagine that the legal team who propped him up all this time, that covered his tracks and organised his murder squads, that they’d just walk free.”

“But if Ben turned, if he decided to give evidence himself…”

Luke groaned, but left it to Poe to explain. “Leia, the thing is… If Snoke died tomorrow, then Kylo - I mean, Ben – would take over the syndicate in its entirety. He knows everything, controls everyone – Snoke’s minions are almost more scared of Ben than they are of the old man himself. Nothing seems to escape him.”

“Something sure as hell escaped him, and now that girl is pregnant,” Luke corrected. Rose snorted involuntarily, then tried to cover it up by taking a bite of a peppermint biscuit.

Poe frowned. “Rey Smith is a complication,” he began, “and we don’t know what, if anything, Snoke knows about her. He and Ben have a strange symbiosis – they fear each other because they could destroy each other. But I think Snoke believes that he has Ben in his power, and anything that threatens that gets dealt with pretty much immediately. I have to say that I agree with Luke; she may need protection.”

“Leia, I know that you believe that if we just crowbar Ben away from Snoke, that your son will come back,” Luke took his sister’s hand. “But you have to know that he might do just what Poe suggests he will: if you remove Snoke, Kylo either goes to prison or he takes over as the new Supreme Leader.”

Leia pulled her hand away from Luke and stared daggers at the two men. “I want to save my son, Luke, as you should want to save your nephew. But I will agree that Rey’s protection must come before everything else; she and that child are innocent. Otherwise, the parameters of this operation remain the same: we are trying to take out Snoke and at least give Ben a chance to save himself.”

Poe and Luke sighed, resigned, and Rose skimmed back through her notes. There was plenty of evidence that not everyone would support Kylo Ren if Snoke went down, and Rose couldn’t help wondering if one of these rivals for power could somehow be the thing that saved Leia’s son.

***

It took until two days after Christmas for Rey to finish her mince pie taste test: she’d picked up six-packs from every major supermarket, cut out all the labels, and stuck them with blue tack to her fridge in order, best to worst. She was deciding whether to pin Tesco just above or just below Asda when her Christmas playlist restarted and she had to dance around the room to Mariah Carey.

Rey had had far and away the best Christmas of her entire life: she had spent it utterly alone, the way she had always dreamed, with more food than she could eat in a week, every Christmas treat that she’d ever wanted to try bursting from her fridge and her cupboards. No one had given her a disappointing present picked at random for an anonymous girl of her age; no one had made a dreadful roast dinner with overboiled vegetables and insisted that she clean her plate; and for the first time, she didn’t pine nonstop for the parents she had never known to show up on the doorstep and take her away.

Rey no longer wanted to be taken away. She was exactly where she wanted to be, in her own, warm, safe little flat, surrounded by more strings of twinkling lights than a Vegas casino. Possibly she had bought too many lights. But they looked so pretty!

Mrs Amata had even sent over a panettone full of little bits of candied fruit. Rey had eaten the whole thing in one sitting, and thus the mince pie project had taken a backseat for 24 hours.

She had binged on movies with her new Netflix account; she took two baths a day with the selection of Lush bath bombs she’d filled her own stocking with. She had wrapped and then opened her presents to herself: a luxurious, soft wool jumper that did not come from a charity shop; a sparkly phone cover; a Bluetooth speaker for her music; a pair of Doc Marten boots that fit her feet perfectly; and a brand new laptop computer on which she’d begun researching business degree programs.

She finished her dance, tacked Tesco under Asda, and then dug into her closet for some clothes to wear to her driving lesson with Han. Only three weeks left until the theory test, and she needed to be sure she could nail the practical test the first time. She wanted to book it in for before her due date if possible.

Chewie’s distinctive knock had her turning down the music and dashing to the door. He pretended to shield his eyes from the fairy light glare when she opened the door, and he grunted low in his throat at the OTT scene of Christmas festivity before him. “Mince pie?” she offered him one from the winning box from M&S. He made an impressed noise as he bit into it. “They’re good, huh?” she agreed, helping herself to one more for the road.

Chewie tilted his head at her laptop and speaker on the coffee table. “Yeah, I got a few presents and funny enough, they were exactly what I wanted!” she giggled. The big man smiled at her and pulled her into a quick side-hug and then motioned to make sure that she had her keys and phone before they left. As Rey locked up, standing on the landing with Chewie looking left and right like a Hollywood bodyguard, she couldn’t stop a smile at the scene before her. Her flat did indeed look like Christmas fairyland; she could see why Chewie had grimaced a bit, but dammit, it looked amazing.

Best. Christmas. Ever.

…

“He told me to tell him what I did for you,” the statuesque blonde kneeling at his feet told him. “He was verrry interested in hearing if you didn’t go for it.” She lifted one sculpted eyebrow. “But for another hundred, I’ll tell him that I sucked you off just like he paid for.”

Kylo sighed, digging into his wallet for the cash, just another car crash to add to his holiday cheer: buying his way out of the blow job that Snoke had gifted him. First a Christmas Day meeting with Snoke, Hux and the rest of the quite literal gang. One contact had been shot through the head shortly before Kylo even arrived, Snoke’s holiday fuck you to anyone who considered the man too old and weak to lead the business into the next year. The body was still in the hallway off the kitchens at this club, wrapped in plastic rubbish bags.

At least eight heads of various cartels had approached him in the last hour, wondering pretty much aloud when Kylo would be taking over. The talk turned to lead in his stomach, and he wouldn’t be overly surprised if Snoke had paid the woman with the frankly scary tits to bite his cock off rather than suck it. The old man had been using Hux for months now to sniff around Kylo, trying to get any intel that would prove that Kylo was orchestrating a coup.

“Here’s the money,” Kylo waited for her to pluck it from his hands. When she reached for it, he took her wrist and held it lightly away from his body. “You’re going back out there to tell the old man how much you enjoyed the taste of my come.” Kylo pulled her handbag from her other shoulder and rifled through it with his free hand, eventually finding some id … “Irene Denner, of 37 Coldharbour Lane, Brixton.” The woman’s eyes widened. “I hope this will be the last time we meet, Ms Denner. Don’t you?” He tucked the £100 into her wallet and dropped it to the floor, then ran his hands through her hair to muss it. “I’ll let you get back in there first and speak to him.” She nodded and left without another word.

He leaned his head back against the wall and steeled himself to rejoin the party. He pulled the burner phone out of his inside jacket pocket and looked one more time at the long lens photo that Finn had sent yesterday: Rey, a broad smile on her face, spinning around in her Santa’s grotto of a flat. He allowed himself a little smile at her image, then deleted it, knowing that Finn had already done the same. He’d always just gone through the motions with Snoke’s ‘gifts’ before, and right now a blow job would, if he were honest, ease some of the day’s tension.

Rey still felt so close that he could taste their last night together, and he knew it was ridiculous, he knew that he was being an idiot, but he just couldn’t bring himself to let another woman… well, not yet anyway, not this woman, not someone Snoke had paid. In time, no doubt, he’d meet someone else. Someone who didn’t need to be protected as much as Rey. Someone not pregnant. Someone less sweet and intelligent and kind.

With one final sigh, Kylo pushed himself off the wall and went to face the rest of his dominion.

Merry fucking Christmas.


	18. The Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not big on warnings. Or writing story summaries (some of you have pointed out that the summary doesn't really match the story, and I'm not here to tell you that you're wrong). My tagging is criminally minimal. So I just want to warn now for graphic violence in this chapter, because I don't want to be the cause of anyone feeling unsafe or triggered. Please believe me when I say that my failure to tag is just the result of my process and not a cavalier attitude to mental health. If you want to avoid the scenes, just skip out at 'He sprinted up the stairs..." and jump back in two paragraphs from the end.

Rey had always been good at exams, and she always overprepared. So it didn’t entirely surprise her when the forty-something man at the testing centre in Wood Green winked at her and handed over her exam result for the theory test: a perfect score.

“A fair job, that, lassie,” he smiled at her, his thick Scottish accent comforting and kind. “What kind of car you going to get for yourself now you’re halfway to a driver?”

Rey scoffed at that – as if she could afford a car! – and then stared at the man, her mouth falling open in shock.

“I…” she paused, looked down at the test result sheet in her hands, “I… actually… I could buy a car.”

The clerk tilted his head and looked at her oddly. “That’s your plan, no?”

“Damn,” she gripped the paper tighter to her. “I could. I know people who could find me something great, something that I could fix up…” She was grinning ear to ear now, and she slapped her hand down on the counter. “I’m gonna do it! I’m gonna buy a car. Soon as I pass the driving test, that is.”

The man grinned back at her. “You ready for it?” She nodded confidently – Han had been teaching her three times a week, two hours at a time, and she had mastered every manoeuvre. Tapping away at his work terminal, the clerk added, “Let’s see if there’s any places available round here – hey now, there’s a cancellation place in mid-February. That’s only a couple of weeks off, ye certain?”

And thus Rey found herself collapsed against the front of the test centre on Wood Green high road, her face aching from happiness, clutching her phone in her hand and waiting for Han to pick up. “Hey there, kid,” he answered, the sound of clanging in the background almost overriding his voice. “Chewie – stop that banging! I’ve Rey on the line – sorry, kid, so tell me, how’d it go?”

“I passed!” she did a little jump in her excitement, then immediately regretted it – the baby was hefty enough that jumping had consequences, “Perfect score!”

“Ha! I knew you would, kiddo, you’re brilliant,” Han enthused, “Hey Chewie, Rey passed her exam… yeah, yeah, I know we all knew that she would… Chewie says congratulations.”

She gushed to Han about her plan to buy a used car and fix it up, and he immediately offered to help. By this point, Rey was starting to cry. Han had immediately told her that he would take her to the testing centre on the day of her driving exam, and Rey couldn’t help remembering the day she’d found out that she’d scored a perfect trio of A*s on her A-level exams. She had already been forced to move away from her old foster home, as the exam results came in three months after she’d left full-time education, and she’d been booted out of the fostering system the day after classes ended. She’d been living in a new town, working as a catering waitress over the summer, and trying to figure out how to make enough money for university. She had known that her grades would get her into a good course, but she’d had no money, and no one to even call and share the news with.

“Kid, you all right?” Han asked, bringing her back to the much better present. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up…”

Shaking her head, Rey sniffed, “No, seriously Han, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine, just hormonal, or something.” It took her agreeing to let Leia and him take her to dinner the following night before he’d let her hang up. She practically skipped to the bus stop, then stopped that because, once again, skipping had consequences. “Sorry, baby,” she whispered. “Mama didn’t mean to shake you up like a cocktail. Let’s head home, yeah?”

…

Stepping into a side street, Phasma walked just far enough to leave the background noise of Wood Green behind her. Hux picked up almost before the first ring ended.

“You found her,” a question, not a statement.

“Of course I found her,” Phasma groused. I’ve found everyone you’ve ever asked me to find, she thought. “Thing is, Armitage,” and Phasma felt herself hesitate, but only for a moment: “The little mechanic? She’s pregnant.”

If Hux was surprised by the information, he didn’t let on. “Roughly how far along is she?”

Phasma balked. “I’m not a bloody midwife, Hux.”

“An educated guess then.”

“I’ve no fucking clue. She has a very definite belly. You wondering if it’s Kylo’s? We’re not going to need to play guessing games… I overheard her on the phone, and she was speaking to someone named… Han.”

Hux dropped his phone; Phasma heard it hit the desk, then heard him cursing and scrabbling to pick it back up. “You heard her having a conversation with Han Solo?”

“She said his first name, and later in the conversation she said Leia’s. Apparently Kylo has introduced her to the in-laws.”

“I knew it! Goddammit, I knew he had something going on with that urchin. The sneaky bastard… he’s managed to keep that hidden,” Hux muttered. “Where is she now?”

Phasma sounded bored. “I don’t know… I’m not following her around all day. But I did follow her home, so you can get to her anytime you want.”

“Today,” Hux decided without a moment’s hesitation. “I want her gone today. I want one bullet through her head and one bullet through his bastard spawn. Get it done, Phasma.”

“I’m going to need clarification on this one, Armitage,” Phasma intoned. “You want me to kill a pregnant woman in order to make Kylo Ren real sad?”

“In order to devastate him. In order to destroy him. Kill that girl, Phasma.” She could almost hear the spittle flying from Hux’s tight jaw.

“No can do, Hux. I provided the information that you asked for. Call someone else if you need another job done.” She cut the call. Then she turned off the recording software.

Finn held open the clear plastic Ziplock bag that Poe had provided, and Phasma dropped the phone into it, prints and all. “What the hell, Phasma, did you just tell him to call out a hit job on her?”

Phasma readjusted her leather gloves and pushed off the wall where she’d been leaning. “He wanted me to do the job, traitor. Now, Dameron and I had a deal. I said I’d get you a recording; I didn’t say I’d save the girl. Hux is no doubt putting a contract on her right now, so if you want to try saving her, please feel free to fling yourself in the line of fire. She’s in central London, in an unguarded flat – you do not have much time, traitor. Better run.”

…

When Kylo’s heart started beating again, perhaps five minutes after Finn’s frantic call, it raced so hard that he could barely make himself rip open the door of the Jag and whip round the corners of the parking garage. But the focus that driving had always given him sharpened his wits; he had the three fastest ways to Rey’s flat fixed in his mind, and he ducked and dove through the early afternoon traffic, his heart slowing as the Jag sped up. The fear, though, that he had always managed to quash when confronted with violence, only dug deeper into his chest.

Control your fear. Conquer the panic.

Rey was innocent. So completely innocent, with her wide eyes and her compassion and her grace. And his child… What the hell had he done?

Kylo parked across the pavement on the road behind her building, barely switching off the ignition before he swung out the door and vaulted over two garden fences to land in the back garden of her building. Hux was sending an assassin, unlikely more than one, given the target. Her downstairs neighbour had gone out – no lights, no noise - but left a window just very slightly ajar, a stuck sash leaving a gap on the right side. Kylo slid his gloved fingers into the space and levered up the window with jarring force, then slipped through the apartment and out the front door into the downstairs landing. The front door to the building – the one that Finn had assured him would remain closed and locked – was wide open, the freezing January air drilling down into his frozen veins.

The assassin was here. Already here. He was too fucking late, Jesus no, please, Rey…

He sprinted up the stairs, no longer bothered with stealth, only to be confronted with the busted-open door to Rey’s flat and a bone-chilling carnage of shattered wood and glass, scattered possessions. She’d fought – oh, Christ fucking Almighty – that beautiful girl had fought, and he could hardly see, his vision obscured by his tears. _She was only 20 years old_, he thought, and a thin trail of blood caught his eye. The blood trickled toward him across the hardwood floor of the front room, from the tiles of the open-plan kitchen, and his own blood was pounding in his ears and the voices of his own self-loathing and regret and the echo from the deepest well of sadness… he almost missed it. That sound.

Breathing. Laboured, nearly strangled. Breathing. And then he saw her.

She was in the farthest corner of the kitchen, curled behind the refrigerator, the shadow of the weak winter sun almost obscuring her from view. She was still standing, even if slumped over, her horrified gaze rising from the growing pool of blood at her feet to meet Kylo’s incredulous stare. Her hand was gripped tight around a long kitchen knife.

The assassin was on the floor, slowly bleeding out from a deep puncture to the neck, and he was clawing at her jeans with the last of his strength.

It only took Kylo a moment to reprogram his reaction and reach out for her.

…

The clarity of adrenalin felt like an old friend to Rey, the singular focus of shock familiar and cold. The man’s fingers were locked on her thighs, trying to pull her down into his death, still trying to finish the job though he was disarmed and dying. She threw everything she had into standing and breathing, standing and breathing, waiting and standing and breathing. He would let go soon. He would let go if she just stood. And breathed. And waited.

Then Kylo was in front of her with a face flooded by tears and an incongruous look of complete certainty. He stepped clear of the blood, which seemed impossible to Rey, there was so much, it was everywhere. Impossible to avoid. But Kylo was at her side, he was gently prying the knife from her fingers, lifting them one by one, kissing each fingertip as he worked it free. Falling into him, she nearly sent them both into the puddle of dark red, but he lifted her away, his arms were under her knees, beneath her back, her fingers in his shirtfront now and gripping as tight as she’d held the knife. He sat her on the edge of her lovely bathtub, her bare feet by the drain. He turned on the taps and tested the water with his hand, then brought each foot under the flow and washed the blood from her toes. Careful and thorough, he made sure that he had removed any trace, then repeated the whole process with her hands, even though those were free of blood. She could tell: his white shirtfront was unmarked. He was drying her feet, then rinsing and drying the tub.

He was speaking. Oh, she thought, he’s been speaking this whole time, so calm and soft that his words were like a lullaby. She tried to fight through the shock and listen in: “… and going to change your clothes, okay, Rey? I’m just going to undress you now, sweetheart.” Somehow, she was in her bedroom, and Kylo was lifting her jumper over her head, then her t-shirt, unclasping her bra. For each item, he folded them carefully and returned them to her wardrobe and drawers, taking a new item and putting it back on her body with gentle efficiency.

By the time he brought her back into the front room, the man who’d attacked her was just twitching, scratching at the tile floor, one hand tracing his own blood across the skirting board beneath the cabinets. Kylo lowered her onto her pretty, floral sofa and told her to stay put. “Close your eyes, that’s right, you’re doing so well. Listen, I just need you to breathe in and out, good job, perfect. You must be cold…?” She shook her head. But she was. Cold. Freezing. Numb. Suddenly he was wrapping her up in something soft and warm and thick; her fingers prodded at it. His coat? And she didn’t keep her eyes closed, either, because she saw him step carefully back into that horrible corner of her kitchen, saw him get into the position that had been hers, saw him pick up the body from the floor and hold it in front of himself, just a bit away, so that he only some of the blood transferred to him, then let the body drop to the floor, more or less in the same position.

Not just a body yet, because the body was breathing. Gurgling.

Kylo picked up the knife, wiped the hilt clean against the body’s trousers, then gripped it in his own hands just as she had when she’d driven it into the man’s neck.

“Rey, sweetheart. Did the man have a gun?” He was brushing her hair from her face with his bloodied hands, pressing his own bloodied fingerprints into her hairline and along the backs of her hands.

“No, that knife. The knife was his. He was going to…” her voice fell away and she replayed the moment she’d seen him standing in her living room as she rested on this very sofa, the same feeling of ice shot through her body. Until Kylo was sitting next to her on the sofa, cuddling her close to his chest, his fingers making soothing passes through her hair and against her scalp. He was pressing kisses into her hair, and the hard knot of ice began to melt, just a little.

“Okay, okay, Rey, keep breathing,” he was still speaking in that soft, low lilt. He was fumbling for his mobile phone. Rey felt warmer now, but it was like the cold had frozen the terror, and now that she was enveloped in Kylo’s coat and pressed into the muscle and bone of his body – now the terror was rising to the surface.

Kylo made two calls; Rey heard them reverberate where her face was pressed to his chest. The first, to 999, was quick. A brief but panicked account, an intruder, a stabbing, an ambulance, quickly, my girlfriend is pregnant, her address being repeated.

Of the second conversation, Rey only heard the beginnings before the sirens outside drown out his low, pleading voice: “Mum? Yeah, yeah, it is. It’s me… Oh, god, listen… Mum. Mum, I need your help.”


	19. The Detectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry for that wait. I so am. I owe you all a quick update to follow this. I will do my utmost.

Kylo sat on the arm of the sofa, Rey’s hand in both of his and resting in his lap. He’d not had to repeat the word ‘girlfriend’ after the initial call to the emergency services; when the first officers had arrived on the scene, he’d let his hand linger over Rey’s belly, the implication all they needed: they’d given him the status of family member.

He knew that Rey would have objected, but she was deep in shock and didn’t seem aware of what was going on around her. The paramedics had entirely ignored the suspect, who had just finished drowning in lungfuls of blood by the time they arrived, and swarmed Rey instead, checking her temperature, wrapping her up more warmly and starting her on oxygen.

Before the ambulance and police arrived, Kylo had considered torturing the man as he lay dying slowly, but he couldn’t, not with Rey in the flat. She had her face tucked into the space beneath his chin, her nose snug against his pulse. He felt… guilty, sure, that she’d been targeted because of him. Angry, certainly. There was a lot else in the mix, he admitted, leaning in to whisper to Rey once again that she’d done everything right. He could pick apart his reactions later; right now he needed to put across the correct tale.

The assassin had finally died shortly after the first wave of police arrived, and Kylo thanked any god willing to listen that Rey’s aim had been off. Far better that the cut was inexpert, that the death happened in front of the police – it all weighed to self-defence, a hasty response to a potentially lethal home invasion.

Poe sized up the situation within a moment of arrival, as Kylo had known he would. He dismissed the low-ranking detective who had arrived on the scene first and took over himself. From his spot on the sofa next to Rey, Kylo noticed that a short, female detective whom Poe introduced as DI Tico was wandering the flat, subtly adjusting the evidence to comply with Kylo’s statement. Poe wrote down Kylo’s version of events: he’d been in the flat with Rey; a man had entered unlawfully and threatened Rey with a knife; Kylo had struggled with the man and eventually stabbed him. Rey had been right here, on the sofa: Kylo had rushed to check on her, bloody fingerprints all around her confirming his story.

Poe didn’t even bother asking if he was going to find Kylo’s prints on the knife.

But when DI Tico asked how Kylo had gotten hold of the knife, Rey seemed to hone in on her words. She frowned and lifted her head from its resting place on Kylo’s bicep. “Ummmf,” she began, then lifted the oxygen mask. The paramedic began to object, and a junior police officer whipped out a notebook to write down her input, but Rey carried on: “No, DCI Dameron, that’s not…”

Poe near-vaulted across the room and immediately knelt in front of her, with his boyscout-honest eyes and most placating smile, and readjusted her oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. “Ms Smith, no one expects you to say a word yet.” The paramedic hummed in agreement. “Mr Ren here has given a full accounting of what happened…” Rey made a noise of protest, but Poe kept talking right over her. “You’re in shock, Ms Smith, and the medical staff say that you should be kept calm and rest. We are not about to go against medical advice,” he said in a voice of official command.

The paramedic to her left patted her knee and pointed to the heartrate monitor. “Your heartrate is still too high, miss. You just breathe easy here; we don’t want the little one getting stressed, do we?”

Kylo gave her right hand a squeeze. “There’s nothing to worry about, Rey,” he told her, because honestly, his mother had sent Poe over even faster than Kylo had expected. “You just focus on you and the baby.” She turned to glare at him, so Kylo angled his body such that Rey could lean against his chest while another paramedic lifted her shirt and pressed a stethoscope over the baby. She jumped at the cold metal and squirmed in discomfort as the paramedic moved it around for a while, relaying numbers and acronyms to her partner so fast that Kylo missed most of it.

“The baby’s heartrate is a little faster than we’d like,” she concluded, then turned to Kylo. “She really should be seen at hospital.”

Rey tipped her face up to look at Kylo. Her eyes above the awkward, plastic mask were red and swollen, her pupils unnaturally wide. But the shock had receded enough to tell that she was not impressed to hear medical decisions essentially being handed over to a man she’d spent two nights with. “Right,” Kylo pressed on. “We will get her to a doctor just as soon…”

“Rey!”

Kylo’s head whipped up at the sound of a frantic and very familiar voice. A different name was being called, but he recognised the tone well enough, from every time he’d fallen from trees, or crashed his bike, or started running out into the street without looking both ways.

Han barely spared Kylo a glance, however. He sank to his knees before Rey, holding out his open arms. And she… she ripped off the oxygen mask and the heart monitor connected to her finger, tugged herself free from Kylo and flung herself… goddamn flung herself… into Han Solo’s waiting embrace.

What. The. Fuck.

“Shhh,” his father’s arms had closed around her, and he was rubbing broad circles into her back and patting her head. Exactly as Kylo remembered that his father had done for him when he’d woken from nightmares. “It’s all right, kid,” he whispered. “You’re okay.” Han looked at the paramedic. “She is okay, isn’t she?” The paramedic nodded, and Han cuddled Rey closer in relief. Shock forgotten, Rey’s emotions had returned full force and she was sobbing buckets into Han’s winter coat, her fingers dug into the wool scarf that hung loose down the front of his chest. “Does she need to be seen at hospital?” The paramedic, who seemed relieved that someone less intimidating than Kylo had showed up to take charge of the pregnant woman, told him that she should be taken to A&E to monitor the baby and make sure that Rey’s blood pressure didn’t rise dangerously after the shock.

“Can we get her cleaned up a little first?” Rey looked like something out of a horror film, with his carefully-placed, bloody fingerprints all over her, but the police photographers had already captured that evidence.

Poe ventured over and shook Han’s hand over Rey’s head. “Mr Solo,” he greeted, “good to see you here. We don’t need a statement from Ms Smith yet, and we’ve already logged the physical evidence,” he nodded at her blood-streaked hair, “so she’s free to have a shower and get changed.” Rey had more or less collapsed onto the floor by now, slumped against his father and gulping in air around quiet sobs. Poe knelt down again, bringing himself to Rey’s height. “Ms Smith, do you have somewhere else to stay tonight? I’m afraid that we’ll need to keep the crime scene clear until the investigation is done.”

Kylo steeled himself. After all, he’d asked his mother for help. Han immediately answered: “Rey can stay with us, if she’s okay with that? Leia was making up a room for you when I left,” he added with a smile. “You can stay as long as you need to.”

When Kylo looked back down at Rey, she had pushed back a bit from Han’s embrace and something was churning behind her eyes, her mouth working around unspoken words. Then, finally: “Mr Solo?” Han and Kylo both froze, and he watched the colour drain from his dad’s face. At the same time, Kylo could see the man plotting out his course, the same way he’d seen it done a million times before in front of his mum. “So, you’re related to Kylo?” she asked Han.

Ah-ha. She didn’t know. The old scoundrel hadn’t told her. “Yes,” Kylo reached out and took one of Rey’s hands. “Han’s my father. I wasn’t aware that you two knew each other…” She looked up at Kylo now, and he felt a surge of victory in having her attention back on him.

“We met at Giulia’s,” she told him, her big, honest eyes still a little glossy with tears, “and Han’s been teaching me how to drive. I passed the theory test this morning…” she trailed off.

Kylo felt the anger that he’d shunted aside earlier return with a jolt. They’d been seeing Rey behind his back, and suddenly the anger was a fury. Even in this, he finally called them, finally reached out, and he’d hope they’d play straight with him for once…

They had caused this. Their interactions with Rey had lead Hux to her. Of all the fucked up things they’d done to him…

“Ben,” Han began.

“It’s Kylo,” he snapped. “And don’t think we won’t be having a discussion about what you’ve done here.” He paused the beginning of his tirade when a distinctive growling sound caught his attention, and Kylo looked over to the doorway of Rey’s flat. He couldn’t supress a fraction of a smile for the one family member he had always regretted turning his back on.

“Uncle Chewie?” Chewie didn’t smile at him, though, instead flapping one meaty hand in Rey’s direction and signing impatiently: _Who came after her? _

_One of Phasma’s_, Kylo signed back. _I told Leia_. _You need to get her to the estate and keep her there under guard._

_That’s the plan, _he nodded. _Now get her showered and changed. She shouldn’t be in here. Throw a few of her things into a bag while she showers._

DI Tico was helping Rey off the sofa and ushering her toward the en suite, speaking in a soft voice and giving clear directions. The paramedics cleared up their equipment and disappeared out the door to drive the body to the morgue. And Poe, Han, Chewie and Kylo waited in silence until they were the only four people left in the front of the flat. The moment the door shut behind the last junior officer to clear the scene, Kylo lunged for Han. “What the bloody fuck were you thinking?” he snarled. “That girl nearly died tonight because of you.”

“Me?” Han shoved Kylo hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. “You knocked up a girl barely out of her teens and then walked away – and even now that you know about her, about _them_, your priorities are so out of whack that you are blaming me for wanting to help out the mother of my grandchild!”

“You knew that any connection between Rey and me would be dangerous for her…”

“Why is that? Huh? You have your head shoved so far up Snoke’s arse…”

Everything just splintered into red in Kylo’s mind, and he pulled back his fist to finally shut the old man’s mouth for good. Han’s eyes widened in shock as he watched Kylo line up his punch. But Kylo found himself dangling half a meter off the floor instead, his right hand pinned behind his back, his body held up by the collar of his jumper and shirt. “Uncle Chewie, put me down!”

“That’ll be enough,” Poe broke in, exasperated. “Han, sit over there and wait for Rey. You and Chewie get her back to the estate and you keep her there. Hux isn’t going to stop with this one attempt. Kylo, you’re coming down to the station with me to cement this self defence claim.” His eyes track to the door through which Rey and Rose disappeared. “She’s going to need a lot of help, you know, Kylo.”

Kylo narrowed his eyes at Dameron. “That’s why I arranged for her my parents to take her in. I just didn’t know they’d already been stalking her.”

Visibly shaken, Han ran a hand over his mouth. He took a moment to look Kylo in the eyes: “Your mother… she said to tell you to come home. You can, you know.” Han motioned for Chewie to release Kylo. “You can come home, son. Look after her yourself.”

Chewie had had the good sense not to let go, and Kylo had to admit that he still would have gone for Han, if he’d had the chance. Instead he headed toward Rey’s bedroom and addressed Poe: “Let me say good-bye to Rey.”

…

The blood came off, but not easily. It required scrubbing with soap and a flannel, and three runs through with shampoo before she felt certain that all the blood that Kylo’s fingers had sliced through her hair was finally out.

She’d killed a man.

Slit his throat.

With a bottle of conditioner in her hands, Rey sat heavily on the bottom of her shiny tub/shower combo and tried to remember what she was doing. When she was. Who she was.

Rose had called through the door periodically to make sure that she was okay, and even though it must have been apparent that Rey was very much not okay, the detective seemed reluctant to invade her privacy. So Rey was almost relieved when the shower curtain was pulled back; she needed someone to get her out of this tub. Get her out of her own head.

Kylo. Too fucking right. Why not? It was Kylo.

He helped her to stand, one big hand around both of hers, his other holding the conditioner bottle. Without a word, he popped open the bottle and poured out the conditioner into his palm, then worked it through her hair with utmost gentleness. He lifted the showerhead from the hook and rinsed her hair, then shut off the taps and carefully twisted her hair to wring the water down the drain.

She didn’t really register him drying her off or herding her back into her bedroom. Det Tico was nowhere to be seen.

His hands were clean of blood. His shirt, though… even damp from the shower… he looked like a murderer.

“I killed that man,” she whispered to him from her seat on the edge of her bed.

“You can say that to me. And to my parents. And to the therapist I’m going to find for you.” He was dressing her again, just like he had earlier, a soft jumper, some woolly trousers that fit under her bump. After she’d used a knife to cut through all that sinew and cartilage, covered herself in blood. “But Rey,” he took her face in his hands and coaxed her to look him in the eyes, “you cannot say that to anyone else, okay? I’ve told them that I did it.” She tried to protest, but only started crying. “It’s all right, Rey. I’ll be fine. You go with my parents – you’ll be safe there.”

He was turning to lead her out the door, but she clutched his hand so hard that he stopped and looked back at her.

“Kylo, I didn’t know. That Han and Leia were your parents. I know that you have problems with them, and I just want you to know that I never meant to deceive you or…”

“Rey,” Kylo smiled at her softly. “I know that. I know that you didn’t. But whatever I may think of them, or them of me, they will keep you safe. You and the baby. Their home is like a fortress; they have protection. Stay with them.” He put both of his hands on her upper arms and leaned down a bit, to be on her level. “I meant it about the therapist. I will find someone by tomorrow, someone to help you. I’d hold you right now, but…” he gestured at his shirt. “I just got you cleaned up.” He pressed a kiss against her forehead, then two more against her hands. “Thank God for these hands, Rey, because they saved you. Both of you. Don’t think about taking that man’s life. That man was scum. You saved our child.”

Rey felt more tears dripping down her face, but Kylo just brushed them away with his fingers. And then he handed her over to Han and waved to her from the doorway as DCI Dameron led him away.


	20. The Safe House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bad month. I am really sorry that I didn't have a chance to respond to all your comments. But really it was a no good, very bad time. At any rate, here we are, at long last...  
Warning for some graphic threats of violence against a woman.

Getting Kylo to the station had required digging up every last trace of Poe’s nostalgia for his childhood friend: the friend of Lego and fingerpainting, the friend who’d confronted Poe’s primary school bullies with righteous anger and precocious height. Right now, all that Poe needed was to dot the i’s and cross the t’s on the Kylo’s really-very-reasonable claim of self defence, or defence of his pregnant ‘girlfriend’, and as long as the man in question held it together… but holding it together had never been Ben’s strong point. And he was raging, raging to court at large, that Armitage Hux needed to be found and…

Poe wrestled Ben into a chair before he could order a hit on Hux in open court. And then he cursed himself for letting ‘Ben’ slip into his thoughts.

Unlike Leia, Poe had long since come to think of Kylo as… Kylo, with all that entailed. It had been years now, and Poe had pretty much given Ben up for dead. Or he thought that he had, because here he was, in front of a magistrate, trying to resurrect Ben Solo from the powerful mob figure that Kylo had become. Trying to save a man that Poe was not convinced could be saved.

The magistrate listened carefully as Poe summarised events for the court. Normally, under these circumstances, Kylo would simply have been released pending investigation; there was no cause to hold him. And Kylo himself had no doubt expected things to head that direction. Leia, though, had arranged things rather differently. 

“DCI Dameron,” the magistrate leaned back in his chair, “You seem to be skimming over some relevant facts, in my opinion. While I acknowledge that Mr Ren’s partner…” he ruffled through some papers on his desk until he came up with the correct sheet… “Rey Smith? Yes, Ms Smith. She does indeed seem to be an innocent party, but one caught up in a power struggle between high-ranking members of an organised crime syndicate.” The man raised an eyebrow in Kylo’s direction. “Given this information, it is not possible to simply let Mr Ren walk free. He has business dealings and contacts in so many countries without extradition agreements that I cannot justify bail…”

Poe chanced a glance at Kylo, still seated and outwardly calm before the magistrate. But his fists were clenching, his jaw working, his eyebrows drawing together in a face that looked way too menacing for a blameless self defence case. He must have been wondering where his lawyer, from another of Snoke’s firms, was, what was taking so long. Poe wasn’t sure was Rose had done to delay the man, but it was working. Finally, though, Poe’s cavalry arrived.

“Good evening, sir, I am sorry that I am late to this hearing.”

Kylo’s head all but spun, Exorcist-style, in the direction of the voice at the courtroom entrance.

“Mr Skywalker,” the magistrate sighed in resignation as Luke strode over to the table in front of Kylo and deposited his briefcase and a file of papers. “You are representing Mr Ren?”

“I am, sir,” he began, only to be cut off by Kylo’s curt, “He is fucking not.”

“Mr Ren!” the magistrate slapped his hand down on his desk, “You will use language becoming of this court. Mr Skywalker, I was just explaining that Mr Ren is a clear flight risk and will be remanded into custody until such time as investigators can prove to this court that his business activities played no part in the murder attempt on Ms Smith.”

Luke continued: “Sir, Mr Ren is the father of Ms Smith’s unborn child, and as such he has a strong motivation to remain in this jurisdiction…”

“You are not representing me, barrister,” Kylo hissed. Then louder, for the court, “Mr Skywalker does not represent me. I will arrange my own legal counsel.” Poe tapped his fingers on the witness box in irritation; Leia had estimated that by taking Kylo by surprise, they would buy perhaps a day before Snoke descended and surrounded his right-hand man with an impenetrable legal wall. But Hux was still at large and Kylo needed to find him, while at the same time reaffirming his loyalty to his boss.

Luke put a hand on Kylo’s shoulder, which was immediately shaken off, so he decided to plough on as though Kylo hadn’t said a thing. “Mr Ren also has an effective sponsor in his mother, the Right Honourable Lady Justice Leia Organa, who can guarantee her son’s compliance with all court orders. He could reside with her…”

Kylo swivelled to look his uncle in the face, incredulous and furious. Poe could see that Kylo was roughly one second away from exploding and destroying the entire plan, but Luke was ready. He gripped his nephew’s shoulder again, this time with a force that held, and explained to the court: “Ms Smith is also staying at Justice Organa’s residence, and I doubt that Mr Ren, having so valiantly defended her once, would be willing to leave her if he feared for her safety. The court has already heard from DCI Dameron that Mr Ren’s law partner, Armitage Hux, solicited an associate to murder Ms Smith.”

Poe watched as Kylo calculated the best way out of this situation. “Sir, the danger to my girlfriend and child is more than enough to keep me here. I have no intention of running. There is no need for me to move into my mother’s residence. I am a barrister in good standing with the court…”

The magistrate laughed. “Mr Ren, please. That you are in good standing with this court merely speaks to the success of your criminal partnerships.”

“Sir,” Luke cut in, “No one has offered evidence of criminal activity on the part of my client.”

“Well, we’ve got a dead hitman on the floor of a London flat, Mr Skywalker. The story of how that body got there sounds an interesting one.” The magistrate waved Luke off the objections that he was about to voice. “Very well. Mr Ren, you are hereby released to the custody of your mother, until such time as this court has completed its investigation.”

“Absolutely not, sir,” Kylo barked. “I ask to be released to my own flat, from which I pose no flight risk.”

The magistrate tapped his desk impatiently. “Mr Ren, you can either go home to Mummy, or I can remand you in custody. Which is it?”

Kylo opened his mouth, no doubt to snark, “Prison, then,” at the magistrate, when Poe caught his eye. “Rey,” he mouthed at Kylo. His former friend stiffened, then hesitated, and after a long moment relented with a swift nod of his head.

It was still a gamble, and Poe wasn’t fond of this game. It hinged on Ben being more attached to Rey than having simply knocked up a one-night-stand, and Poe wasn’t certain that was the case. Kylo had seemed attentive to Rey, but he could have had ulterior motives for that. Once upon a time, Poe would have had no trouble believing that the socially awkward and highly emotional Ben Solo could fall in love at first sight. Now, though…

“DCI Dameron, you are excused,” the magistrate intoned. Poe watched as Luke manhandled his ox of a nephew from his chair before Kylo could fuck up the Leia’s carefully wrought scheme. He followed them at a distance, Luke and Kylo apace with each other but walking down the corridor of the courthouse as far apart as the walls would allow.

Rose popped out from an empty courtroom after Kylo and Luke passed by, and stood a moment with Poe, watching them leave. She took a sip from her take-away coffee cup contemplatively.

“You get me one of those?” he asked.

“Nope,” she replied, her eyes still tracking Kylo as he bent into the passenger seat of his uncle’s car. “I don’t want to foster the sort of working relationship where I get you coffee.”

Poe pouted. “I fetch you coffee all the time.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t play to the same sort of unfortunate stereotypes,” she waited a beat for Kylo and Luke to pull away. “Well, best get to it, we don’t have long.”

Poe snapped his gaze back to her. “Long for what?”

“Hux,” she replied, as though it was obvious. “Kylo is only playing along until he can get his hands on Hux, at which point he’ll kill him. Snoke must know that there’s a power struggle going on here, and I doubt that Kylo plans to lose. It’s very possible that he’s planning a takeover of the syndicate. He’s just buying time, and you and Luke are lending him the funds.”

…

Han and Chewie didn’t take her to the hospital, as it turned out. Instead, Rey found herself being driven in a fortified SUV with blacked-out passenger windows - Han at the wheel, and Chewie in the passenger seat trying to take her pulse at odd intervals – past the edge of the North Circular and out into the countryside. From the motorway, they sped onto A roads, then B roads, then finally onto a rubble-strewn track that was Tarmacked in the most minimal possible way. The sun was setting on a day that had frayed Rey’s emotions and left her feeling mentally exhausted, when they reached what could only be described as a road block. An enormous man in the orange uniform of a private security firm leaned in the passenger window and chatted in low tones to Han and Chewie, glancing every so often in her direction.

“Good news, Rey,” Han attempted a chatty tone, “The consultant ob/gyn that Leia rang for has arrived at the house, so there’s no need for you to attend A&E. We’ll take care of you and the baby at home.”

Consultant? Rey had expected an on-call midwife to take her heart rate and offer her a cup of herbal tea; she’d had no expectation of seeing a doctor, no matter what the paramedics had said. Out of the corner of her eye, Rey spotted another orange uniform, then another, patrolling a border fence at a distance.

“What’s with the hired security, Han?” she wondered aloud.

Chewie reached back to pat her knee as Han chuckled, the sound forced. “Just some extra precautions, given Leia’s position, and some of my past connections, and pretty much all of Ben’s current connections.” She could see his shoulders rise and fall above the back of the driver’s seat in a casual shrug. “We’ll keep you safe here, Rey. That’s why Ben called us to come pick you up.”

So she hadn’t imagined that call to his mother. Had she been targeted because of her connection to Kylo? He’d been worried about the possibility, but in Rey’s mind, tonight’s attack had been a random intruder. As the SUV crunched its way up a long, gravelled drive, Rey considered that she was perhaps being drawn further into the belly of the beast, and perhaps she should run the other direction. No sooner had she thought it than a panic set in: she was too tired and too stressed to start all over, somewhere else. Then again, she had a couple of thousand pounds in her bank account, more than she’d ever had before to start over with. She could do it. Find a new town. Disappear.

Chewie was turned in the front passenger seat, frowning at her, head tilted in thought. He turned away as an enormous manor house, all grey stone and leaded windows, tastefully floodlit in the dark winter evening, appeared at the end of the drive. Han parked in front of the broad stairs that led up to beautifully carved, dark wood doors, one of which opened to reveal a hint of warm colour and fireglow. The decadence of this place seemed so far away from her comfy London flat that she felt she had been beamed down onto another planet.

That was when movement caught her eye, and a man built like a lorry reared up before her window, yanking open the door nearest her. Rey screamed, her heartrate skyrocketing, and she threw herself across the backseat to escape. The door behind her back opened and she tumbled out of the car, straight into Chewie. He set her safely on her feet and kept one heavy arm around her. 

“Dammit, Berch, you scared her. Don’t crowd the girl, for chrissake,” Han groused. “Chewie, she okay?”

Rey felt a bit stupid huddling against Chewie, but her heart was still going so fast that she thought she might pass out. Chewie just let out a fierce noise at this man called Berch and started ushering her towards the soft light at the top of the steps.

“Sorry, miss,” she heard Berch call behind her. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Chewie, the doctor is in the green reception room, waiting for you.”

Rey sighed. This place had a) reception rooms, and b) so many that they’d had to colour code them. She felt hoodwinked: sure, Leia was all style and grace, but she’d never have mistaken Han for one of the horsey set. Nor Kylo, now she thought about it, now that it was sinking in that Kylo was their son. She’d known that they probably had money – Han’s car habit and his hints at owning light aircraft didn’t come cheap – but there was money that bought you Giulia’s beautiful terraced home in North London, and then there was this.

Leia was waiting for them in an entrance hall that seemed more human in scale than Rey had feared – thick rugs, dark wood, a large oil painting of a incongruous desert landscape – and she pulled Rey into a hug that was both comforting and a little awkward. A lot of people had been touching her today, and it was starting to grate, even if they had the best of intentions.

“Rey,” she said softly, “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you. But you’ll be safe here, and you are welcome to stay as long as you like.” Leia was leading her past a set of wide, carpeted stairs and into a room at the back of the house with distinctive green wallpaper and tall windows that looked out over the dark garden. A woman sat waiting on a grey armchair, a large soft bag marked with a red cross beside her.

Leia sat next to her on the matching grey sofa through the whole check, and despite the consultant asking some very personal questions as she listened to the baby’s heartbeat through a stethoscope, Rey was glad to have someone with her. At some point, while the doctor was reassuring her that the baby was fine and she just needed to rest, Rey noticed that she was holding Leia’s hand. Gripping, more like. She had the distinct impression that it had not been Leia who initiated the contact.

Once the doctor had gone, Han appeared with a tray of tea and snacks, and he sat down in the chair that the doctor had vacated. He handed her a mug with plenty of sugar and milk. “Do you mind some company?” he asked with a lopsided smile that she now couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed was exactly the same as Kylo’s. “I feel like we owe you an explanation.”

“We wanted to tell you, Rey, but we feared drawing any sort of attention to Ben’s connection to you,” Leia began.

Rey frowned down at her lap; her mind still felt that it was wading through mud. “I just now realised that you’re this baby’s grandparents. Sorry, I’m feeling a bit slow right now.” Her mind was trying to whir into action, piece together everything that happened. “And… the man with the knife… it wasn’t random. He said that he was after…” _the bitch that dog Kylo was fucking_. Rey didn’t repeat that. “He wanted to kill me. Because of Kylo.” She was clutching one of their throw pillows to her belly against the remembered threats.

Leia scooted closer on the sofa. “Rey, I’m just going to keep repeating that you are safe here. No one will get to you. There’s security all around the grounds, an alarm system, Han, Chewie and a few guards are in the house.” She pressed a biscuit into Rey’s hand and encouraged her to drink the tea. “And my brother, Luke, he just texted that he’s bringing Ben over, too.”

“You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to, kid,” Han added quickly. He didn’t seem keen to see Kylo again, himself. “This is a big house; I can stash him somewhere far away from you.”

Yawning, she shrugged. “I don’t want to see him tonight. I’m just really tired.” She set a half-eaten biscuit down on the tray; if she couldn’t eat, she knew that she must be truly exhausted. “All I want to do is sleep.”

Leia and Han led her upstairs and along a long, straight hallway, stopping at a door about halfway down. “That’s us,” Leia pointed to the room across the corridor and one over. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate. And that’s Chewie’s room,” she patted a door three down from her own, “when he stays here. He’ll be here tonight.”

Han was prowling the room when Leia led her in, checking the window locks and pulling extra pillows from a deep olive-coloured armoire. A soft light from a bedside table lit the room, with its soothing shades of green on dark wood, creamy walls with forest landscapes hung all around a queen-sized bed. Two sets of windows overlooked a formal garden at the front of the property; Rey could just make out a fountain beneath some garden lights. Han pushed open a door to show her the bathroom. Someone had set her own travel bag on the duvet. “Ben packed it for you,” Han explained, “before we left your flat.”

Leia pressed a kiss to her hair and Han patted her shoulder with a half-smile, and then they shut the door behind them. She found that Kylo had packed her two pairs of pyjamas, along with some essential toiletries. She dropped the cosmetic bag on the counter in the bathroom and the travel bag inside the armoire, changed her clothes and crawled into bed. Alone in a largely silent, foreign place, Rey curled up under the duvet and tried not to cry or panic or feel like she had every time she’d been dropped unsuspecting into a new foster home. She closed her eyes, shoving down any images of the attack, of the gore, until she felt her body relaxing.

Kylo was standing over her then. He’d trapped her in her little kitchen, backed her through the flat until she had her back to the fridge and nowhere else to go. He seemed to loom over her, bigger, heavier, and even if she might have been faster at some point, she wasn’t now, not with her belly throwing off her centre of gravity. She couldn’t twist to protect the baby and fight back at the same time; but she had to fight him. His voice was strange, not Kylo’s at all, but it shot ice through her veins: _gonna cut that bastard out and bring it to my boss as proof; you’re gonna die here, bitch_. She couldn’t hold him back, couldn’t wrestle the knife from him like she’d done before; he had his hands on her throat, and it was then that she started to scream and scream and scream. Screaming for Kylo to get off her, stop hurting her.

The shushing brought her round, Han and Leia on the bed with her, one on each side, holding tight. Her eyes opened to Kylo filling the doorway, Chewie and another man wrestling him out of her room with his arms pinned behind him. His eyes full of tears, looking like _she’d_ been the one trying to stab _him_.

“It’s okay, Rey,” Leia’s quiet reassurance, a hand stroking over her hair, “shhh, just a bad dream, love. You’re safe here.”

“Ben, get out,” Han’s voice, “you can see her in the morning. You’re not helping her now, son.”

“Rey,” Kylo, his own voice this time, softly, “I’m not going away, okay? I’ll be in the house all night, if you need me.”

Rey closed her eyes, snuffling as Leia dabbed away at her tears with a tissue. “Shhh, you go back to sleep, Rey,” Leia soothed. “Han and I will stay here with you. Ben’s just down the hall, and Chewie too. Nothing to worry about.” This is what it must be like, Rey thought as she drifted away again, to have parents.


	21. The Therapy Sessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the good wishes; things are going much better. Have a chapter. :)

Possibly, Rey tilted her head to the side and tried to take a mental measure, _maybe_, the therapist sitting before her was one quarter the size of Kylo. Yet the woman had just swatted him anyway, as though his imposing, brooding presence made no difference to her.

“You can’t sit in on our session, Ben, so off with you,” Maz Kanata informed him, shoving him ineffectually toward a double door in the bright corner room – the music room, Leia had mentioned. It did host a piano near one of the banks of windows. “I suspect that whatever troubles this lovely woman has to discuss, you’re a central part of them.”

Meh, Rey thought. She’d spent all of two nights with Kylo – three if you counted him sleeping down the hall last night and showing up with a cooked breakfast on a tray at 7am – and while that had been plenty enough to cause trauma, she’d had plenty more before he happened along, looking all tall and handsome and offering a drink and a posh hotel room. There was just so much, she had no idea what difference an hour’s session could possibly make.

“I don’t want to stay for the session, Maz, just… for God’s sake, stop hitting me!” he leaned into Rey to avoid Maz’s file folder aimed at his head. “I just want to explain the immediate circumstances…”

Maz huffed and hoisted herself onto an embroidered armchair across from the plush sofa where Kylo had settled Rey. The walls were a sunny yellow and mirrors enhanced the late winter morning light, and Rey wanted to attack pretty much everything breakable with a cricket bat. What even _was_ her life, how had she ended up in a room that looked like something out of a life-sized dollhouse, a china service of tea and scones on a coffee table at her feet, and her very own shrink about to ask her about the man she murdered yesterday. And Kylo, right next to her, who seemed to be holding her fucking hand and prodding the limits of doctor-patient confidentiality for legal purposes.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, Rey was only half-aware of their conversation, but she understood that Kylo wanted her to be able to speak freely about him, about everything that had happened, with the assurance that it would go not further. But Rey’s mind was stuck in a single track, unbudgable: for some reason, Kylo didn’t speak to his parents. His caring, intelligent, loving, kind, generous parents. And the money. Look, just look, at all this money. Rey was currently wearing, over her H&M maternity jeans, a left-behind school jumper that Kylo – apparently oversized even as a child - had dug out for her from the wardrobe in his room. It was cashmere.

He had probably gone to a private school.

“Did you grow up here?” Rey asked, and the question followed her thoughts so closely that it was hard to understand why Maz and Kylo looked startled by it. “In this house,” she clarified. “Did you grow up here?”

Kylo looked puzzled. “Yes. I went away to school for a while, but, yeah. Mainly.”

Rey nodded, tightly. “Where’s your room?”

“Upstairs, across from my parents. Next door to yours.” His voice was laced with suspicion.

Maz had leaned back in her chair, watching this interaction. Rey pulled her hand out of Kylo’s grip; he took it back. “Did you race cars with your Dad? He said that you did.”

“Umm. Yes. We did a lot of that.”

“He’s proud of your driving skills.” Rey seemed to be talking to herself now, rather than him.

Kylo scoffed. “He would be proud of something like that, rather than my actual interests and accomplishments.” Behind her Coke-bottle glasses, Maz raised an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm,” Rey responded. She snatched back her hand and tucked it under her thigh. “I’m just…” she looked vaguely out the window, then back at Kylo. He’d moved his hand just close enough that one finger was touching her wrist. “I’m trying to understand why. Why you don’t talk to your parents. Why you changed your name. Why you hate your Dad.”

He pulled his hand away and shifted subtly away from her on the sofa, then a self-deprecating smile curled onto his face. It was 100% Han Solo. “I’m sure I’m taking up Maz’s time with you…”

“Not at all!” Maz grinned at him. “Please continue. I can tell that these issues are really bothering Rey, and I’ve been dying to know the answer to that question myself.”

Standing abruptly, Kylo leaned down to press a kiss to the side of Rey’s temple. “I’ll be back in an hour, if that’s sufficient?” he asked.

Maz shrugged. “Sounds like Rey has a lot to get through – I’ll stay until she’d done.” When Kylo closed the double doors behind him and left them alone, Maz smiled encouragingly, “So. Where would you like to begin?”

Rey crossed her legs beneath her and reached for a fine porcelain teacup. “Yesterday, I killed a man with a knife, and watched him die very, very slowly on my kitchen floor.”

Maz tilted her head. “Interesting that you begin with your act of violence, and not the fact that this man tried to murder both your and your unborn baby. If you hadn’t killed him, you’d be dead. But please continue.”

“I’m twenty, I have pretty much no money, I’m pregnant after a one-night-stand, the police then told me that the baby’s father is some sort of mob supremo, and I think that he killed the boss at the garage where I was working. I was fired from my job by Kylo’s law partner, but Kylo found me another job with better pay. So this time the partner tried to kill me.” She took a contemplative sip of tea. “And then there’s my childhood.”

Maz scribbled a few notes. “And you’re angry at Kylo.”

Rey pressed both of her hands on the edge of the sofa in front of her crossed legs and leaned forward. “I am really unbelievably fecked off with Kylo.” She waved her hands around the room. “Look at this place! I mean, just… for fuck’s sake. I didn’t have food. I buy clothing in charity shops, and even then only when the stuff I have is properly worn through. I have a ten-year plan to get a degree and a flat, once the baby is old enough to be in subsidised daycare for a few hours each week. When something great happens to me, I had… until a few months ago… no one to call and share that with. No one has ever loved me.” Rey paused. “I’ve never actually said that before. But it’s true. No one on this planet loves me, or ever has. That’s not me being dramatic, because I am not dramatic. It’s what it is. But… I had me. I worked hard for myself and to make a better life. And then…” Rey pointed out the door that Kylo had exited through. “Him! And he has everything. He grew up in mansion, with… racing cars, private planes, tutors and sports clubs and post-graduate education. And parents who love him. They really love him. And I’m sure he has his reasons and maybe they’re good ones, but…”

She let out a huge sob. Maz scurried around the coffee table and pulled herself up on the sofa next to Rey, handing her a box of tissues. “And he’s so sweet to me, and so gentle, and he seems to care. And the sex… oh my God, the sex is superstellar. But he’s ruined my life. And I hate him,” she seethed, volume low but clear. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.” 

Rey grabbed an expensive cushion and pressed it to her face, screamed, then flopped it back down. “Just tell me what I should do. About him.”

Maz’s face betrayed little of her thoughts. “You hate him,” she repeated, giving Rey an opportunity to expand.

“I don’t know… maybe hate’s not the right word…”

Maz sighed next to her. “No, I imagine it’s not quite the right word.”

“I find him inexplicable.”

“Perhaps you should ask him to explain himself,” Maz said finally. “Someone should.”

…

Kylo hung up from his phone call with Snoke, destroyed the Sim card, and immediately popped in a fresh one to dial Finn, making sure that the hunt for Hux was the top priority. Snoke had been suspicious - of Kylo being in the Organa-Solo home, of his lawyer being in front of the court - but ultimately he’d sided with Kylo over Hux.

_“Hux told me about your little mechanic; I must say, I didn’t think you’d allow yourself such an obvious weakness… a girlfriend? A pregnant one at that?”_

_Kylo didn’t respond. _

_“I thought I’d taught you better: plenty of women throw themselves at you, Kylo, and I expected you’d just work out any… urges… you have with them. And never see the same woman twice.” Kylo suddenly realised, like a brick to the head, that when he told himself he’d been protecting Rey after that first night, what he’d been doing is following the advice that Snoke had given him since his late teens… he never had, before Rey, had sex with the same woman twice. _

_Was he that much in the man’s power? _

_“The girl isn’t a problem, Mr Snoke,” he finally answered. “Once the threat to her life has been eliminated, I’ll be happy to set her up somewhere out of the way of both me and the business. I can buy my way clear.”_

_“That’s good, that’s what I’d expect, but you’re asking me to lose Hux, one of my most loyal lieutenants, in favour of some girl just because you couldn’t keep your dick dry. I had hoped for more control on your part.”_

_“The attempt on her life was an attempt to get at me, and I will not tolerate any attacks on myself. You taught me better than to accept that,” Kylo’s temper simmered, but he held it in check._

_Snoke sighed loudly over the crackly burner phone. “Very well. Close this business. Then I expect you back at work.” _

He spent an hour locked in his childhood bedroom, closing off any avenues that Hux could run down and hide. He made sure that everyone in the business knew exactly who was in charge and what would happen to any associate offering Hux support.

When he finally finished with the calls, Kylo went in search of food. He steeled himself as he found his Mom, his Dad Chewie and Uncle Luke all sitting around the large, round kitchen table, finishing off breakfast. Leia pushed a mug of tea in his direction, and he picked it up without joining them at the table, choosing instead to stick his head in the fridge to see it there were any eggs. He sipped the tea; his mother had prepared it for him as he’d liked it at 12 years old: plenty of milk, plenty of sugar. He mostly drank black coffee now, and when he did drink tea, he never added sugar. But she didn’t know that, some conciliatory part of him whispered, and she’d made it just how she believed he liked it. It did taste rather comforting. 

“Have you seen Rey since her session with our Maz?” Leia asked, turning in her seat to watch him. “I know she went upstairs to lay down after they spoke, but I haven’t seen her since.”

Kylo set down his tea and made for the door – he should find Rey – when Han spoke up: “Easy there, kid, I knocked about 15 minutes ago to see if she’d like something to eat or drink, and she told me no. She’s fine; just leave her to rest.”

Chewie had moved to the doorway, blocking it. “She shouldn’t go without meals,” Kylo said instead of what he was thinking: she shouldn’t be alone. “She’s staying here again tonight, right?”

Leia reassured him that she was, but Han added that he’d see to the security of her flat if she decided to move back there. Before Kylo could argue the point, Luke warned: “Ben, you know that you need to stay here in order to satisfy the terms of your release, right? Even if Rey leaves.”

“That won’t be a problem; I have my own lawyer working to get me back into my place. How did you manage to block him from attending my hearing in the first place? Never mind, whatever you all plotted to get me arrested, I’m working to undo.” He avoided their eyes. “I want to leave just as much as you all want me out of here.”

Before he could let his heart sink all the way into the floor as no one challenged him, he was being lifted off his feet and thrown over a shoulder. The years seemed to have no effect on Chewbacca’s preternatural strength, his meaty bicep secured around Kylo’s legs in a bruising fireman’s hold.

“What the fuck, Uncle Chewie, put me down!” he yelled, in a voice that sounded to his ears about an octave higher than it should have.

“Language, Ben!” his mother called merrily, from somewhere behind him. “Han, he’s not even had breakfast…”

“Wrap him up some of that toast…” but Kylo didn’t hear the rest, as Chewie carried him through the kitchen door. His struggles only gained him having his elbow being bashed against the doorframe.

“Watch it, Chewie, if you return that boy damaged, Leia will have your hide,” Luke laughed, and Kylo could remember that exact non-joke making them all cackle when he was much, much younger. Chewie had always carried him out of the kitchen after breakfast on Saturdays, when he was home from school, and they would head out to do some racing.

Luke and Chewie carried him down a path out to the side of the house that led past the stable, where Han housed not horses, but cars. The blood was rushing to his head and he bounced helplessly in Chewie’s grip for the short walk to the converted stables; then he was dumped onto a bale of hay, surrounded by more than a dozen high-end, hand-built cars. Before he could take in the changes, he felt something soft hit him in the face and drop into his lap: a thick fleece coat. “Your mother said you’d catch cold,” his father shrugged, handing him some toast wrapped in wax paper, “and starve.” He shook a flask of tea in Kylo’s direction as well. “And dehydrate.”

Luke was pulling a canvas tarp off of a deep grey racecar with orange detailing. The shape was unusual, with doors that he flipped up manually to form half an x. “My baby,” Luke patted the top of the driver’s side door, “and £100 says it can beat anything you choose to race against her, Ben.”

Kylo brushed the hay off of his trousers and zipped up his fleece, casting his eye over the cars. He shoved half a piece of toast into his mouth, chewing as he strolled around the barn, looking at the latest additions to the stable. Last time he’d been in here, there had been maybe 8 cars – now it was 14. He walked past his Dad’s pride and joy, the beat-up Renault Faucon, which probably still had the fastest engine in the collection, despite appearances. A sleek, black newcomer caught his attention.

“A Tie?” Kylo asked, brushing a hand across the bonnet. It was a stunning build, shiner and sleeker than most of the more rough-and-ready cars in the stable.

“Rebuilt,” Han shrugged. “Runs silent but fast – a little unstable in its handling, takes a talented driver to run her right. I don’t drive her, actually.”

Kylo raised an eyebrow at that – his father was one of the best drivers he’d ever come across. He’d made his living for years on F1 tracks, and he still raced semi-professionally. “You mind if I give her a run?”

Chewie let out a loud guffaw and signed: “I don’t think he’ll mind. He built her for you.”

“No one’s been allowed to run her,” Luke added. “'That’s Ben’s,’ is all we get.”

When Kylo looked over at this Dad, Han just shrugged. “May as well see what you can do with her.”

He edged the Tie out onto the track in front of the stables. Did his father actually build out this car for him? He’d had pictures of 1960s Ties in his room as a kid, edging out Lotus and Ferrari in Monaco, Indianapolis, Belgium. This was a much more modern incarnation and heavily remodelled, but just the lightest touch of his foot to the accelerator made the whole thing hum in a way that settled right down in Kylo’s soul. 

He spun her around the track twice to get a feel for her idiosyncrasies, then sped up. And up. And up. Until he was whipping around the curves that he remembered like the lines of his own face, and was Luke suddenly behind him in the X-wing, Han in a tricked-out Falcon and Chewie in something he’d built himself. Han and Chewie seemed content to hang back and watch him try out the Tie’s paces, but Luke pushed to get past at every opportunity, and before he knew it, Kylo was 15 years old again, his face set against the challenge of his uncle’s almost magical skill. He could still feel the car and see the road ahead in his mind, almost well enough to close his eyes and steer by instinct alone.

Two hours later, all of them covered in mud in oil and dirt, Kylo had a £100 note tucked in the pocket of his jeans courtesy of his uncle. The man could still drive; Kylo had only managed to just edge him out at the last moment, leaving Han and Chewie to pull up the year. The three men were laughing and joking as the walked back to the house, Luke’s arm slung around Han as Chewie signed lazily about plans for lunch. Kylo hung back a few paces, watching them, feeling outside of their friendship as he often had, when Han turned around and reached out a hand to him. He managed to get a handful of Kylo’s jacket and pulled him forward, in line with Chewie and Luke. “Ham sandwiches sound okay for lunch, son? I think your mother was planning a big dinner.” 

Luke swung open the kitchen door, the south-facing room flooded with bare, wintery sun. Rey, Maz and Leia were sitting at the table, Rey with one hand on her belly and the other lifting a soupspoon of thick chicken soup to her lips. Luke scraped the mud off his boots on the mat by the door, then the rest of the men followed suit. By the time his eyes had adjusted to this idyll, his father was already at the kitchen counter, oversweetening some tea for him. His mother was laughing at something Chewie had said and Luke was spouting proudly about Kylo’s circuit with the Tie. Someone was ruffling a hand through his damn hair.

Kylo, though, focussed in on Rey. And Rey wasn’t smiling. She was staring right back at Kylo, with her eyes narrowed, and she looked… angry. 


	22. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments and bookmarks. I really appreciate every one! Now, where were we? Oh yes, Rey's a bit fecked off with Kylo...

Somewhere in the babble of the kitchen, Rey had slipped away. Kylo hated Rey slipping away, as the feeling that he’d had on that mad dash to her flat yesterday - that she was gone, extinguished along with the new life inside of her – hadn’t left him. He’d had no sleep last night, waiting with his door open to listen for any movement, even though his parents had been in there with her, were still with her when he’d disappeared to the kitchen at 6.30 in the morning to make breakfast for her.

Now with lunch long behind and the sun slipping from the sky, Kylo started hunting for her. She was not in her room, or either of the libraries, or in the bathrooms or any of the bedrooms, at which point he’d detoured back to his own bedroom and picked up his gun. He started to fear more conventional dangers – that she’d fallen and hit her head, that she’d left the house and become lost in the woods that surrounded the property. And he was just about to swallow his pride and ask his family for help, when he heard the cut-glass tones of Threepio, the family’s longstanding household manager, pleading with Rey.

“Ms Smith, please, I’m under orders… you are not to go outside without someone to accompany you!”

“And I told you, thank you for your concern, but I do not need a babysitter. Now let. Me. Pass.” Rey made a grab for the door handle, which Threepio blocked more deftly than Kylo would have imagined possible.

“It’s okay, Threepio, I’ll go with her,” he intervened, and Threepio slid away from the door with a sigh of relief.

Rey stood with her back to him, squaring her shoulders and faintly growling. With Threepio no longer blocking her exit, she reached for the door handle, but Kylo’s years of etiquette training seemed to re-emerge from the ether and he slid around her to open the door. She snatched her hand back as if he’d bitten her. He had to stand well back to let her pass, as her belly took up considerable space now and her temper even more. She marched out into the darkening garden and paused at the end of the walkway where the path split in three directions, scanning the grounds.

“Will you accept a suggestion for your walk?” he asked quietly.

She threw up her hands in resignation. “Lead on,” she snarked. Kylo set off down the central path, which led through the manicured part of the French garden, past the pool and down to a pond. It was the most level path and the least likely to trip her up or overtire her.

“What a trial it must have been,” she remarked as they skirted the climbing frame that his father and uncles had built for him, “growing up here.”

Kylo looked over at her, picking up that same tone from this morning with Maz. “Not as a young child, no,” he began hesitantly. “Han travelled a lot, but only during part of the year, and Mum worked a lot, but they were around a fair amount, too.”

They continued on in silence for few minutes, past the dormant winter plantings then into the evergreens at the edge of the formal garden. The path led down some narrow stairs, and Kylo stopped to let her pass first. She stopped as well. “You first,” she insisted. “No handrails?”

“No,” it seemed unnecessary to have handrails on a few stairs on a garden path. “Why do you need me to go first?”

“I don’t trust stairs,” she hedged, swallowing back a fuller explanation.

Kylo dropped down two steps to even their height and then turned to offer her his arm in lieu of a handrail. She waited a moment, looking at his offered arm, and he was just about to shrug and give up when she slid her hand just above his wrist. And gripped. Hard. He took the stairs – 17 of them, he knew from long experience, in short groups, with landings between – slowly, as she seemed worried. At the bottom, she released his arm and took a step away from him.

“That something else you need to discuss with Maz? Stairs?” he prompted.

“If I brought up every past trauma with Maz, I’d spend the rest of my life rehashing the first 20 years of it,” she answered. “When would you need to start?”

“Huh?” 

“With your trauma. From what age? Was it a specific incident that led you to being such a complete arse to your own parents, or a situation that went on for a while?” 

“You know nothing of this,” he replied testily. He could hear the tension in his own voice.

“You changed your name, don’t talk to your parents, joined the Mafia…”

Kylo turned left as if to physically avoid the question; she followed. “There’s no one event, no.” He pointed into the distance. “The pool’s this way. Would you like to go for a swim? It’s heated.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered, then: “I don’t know how to swim.”

“You never learned to swim?”

Rey looked like she might explode. “I suppose the 8 or 10 lessons I had at primary school might keep me from drowning, but no, when would I have learned to swim? Who do you think would have paid for me to take swimming lessons, Kylo? The few I got were only because a sympathetic teacher raided lost and found for an extra costume.”

Kylo knew that he could be an argumentative arsehole; indeed, he knew that he was usually an argumentative arsehole. But he also knew when to keep his mouth shut, and this seemed like one of those moments.

“I’d never learn to drive, either, if your Dad hadn’t offered to teach me, in his own car, at his own expense. I bet he taught you to drive, too,” she spat the words at him.

Kylo laughed, which seemed to make things momentarily worse. “No, umm, no. Mum taught me – said I needed to learn how to drive like a normal, responsible citizen if I wanted to get a license. And by that time, Dad and I couldn’t be in a small, enclosed space together…”

“Why not?”

Kylo tensed. He did not want to get into this topic, with Rey, with anyone. “We didn’t get along when I was a teenager. He didn’t want me around. I was really not Han Solo’s kind of person, at all.”

Rey took a deep breath. “You are a bloody fuckwit, aren’t you? Your Dad loves you.”

“I’m sure that somewhere deep down he does…”

“No,” Rey snapped. “Nope, he loves you right up on the surface. For all to see.”

Kylo thought back to today, to the Tie, to the tea. “Very well. If you say so.”

“No. Not because I say so. Because it’s true. Let’s… okay… for example,” she stopped walking and spun round to face him, deceptively calm. “Would you like to see some pictures of me as a baby or toddler, maybe to compare with what the baby might look like?”

Kylo gave her a wide, honest smile. “Yes, of course, I’d love to see them.”

“Well you can’t, because there aren’t any. No one cared enough to take a photograph of me unless it was getting stapled to a form at Social Services.” She had her hands on her hips. “You, meanwhile. There are professionally commissioned portraits of your entire childhood on every wall of every room of that very large house.”

Kylo shook his head; she didn’t understand – Luke had always liked to take photographs and his weird-looking nephew made a good subject. They were like exhibits in a natural history museum, not loving mementos of happier times. So much of what she saw, it was just for show.

“You threw all of this away, Kylo,” she shouted. She was shaking a little bit, and he worried – this sort of outburst couldn’t be good for a pregnant woman, not on top of everything else she’d been through in the last day. “You tell me why!”

Part of Kylo, the most prominent part, wanted to shout back and tell her that it was none of her business. They weren’t dating; they weren’t partners – there were just people who happened to be having an accidental baby together. But even as he thought it, he knew that didn’t cover the feelings that he had for Rey, or for the baby. And he couldn’t shout at her. Shouting at Rey was not, and never would be, allowed.

So for the first time in years… possibly ever… Kylo thought about the question; he usually just dodged any sort of introspection. The truth was… the truth was… he fumbled in his memories for a explanation.

“I think you threw it all away because you could.” Her tone was icy, decisive. Rey was leaning one hand on a Norwegian maple at the side of the path, clearly having been kept waiting for his answer for longer than he realised.

He refocussed on her. “What?”

“Because you knew they’d take you back. You knew that they loved you so much that they’d forgive you anything.”

“Then it turns out that I was wrong,” he spoke his thoughts as they came to him, with no forward planning. “They would kick me out if that’s what you wanted. I’ve made too many mistakes for them to put me above the two of you.”

“Kylo, that’s not true.” She didn’t look in the least concerned about placating him, just irritated with what she clearly perceived to be his lack of insight.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his conviction growing, following the line of a coherent argument the way he would while building a case. “It is. They have adopted you, and they’ll keep you as long as you allow.” He waved away her objection before she could voice it, circling the tree like a predator as she stood still beside it. “You’re not the first replacement they’ve found for me, but you’re by far the best. Way better than even Poe, better than any of that army of interns that she’s taken in and trained. Because you are going to give them my baby.”

“You. Stupid. Wanker.” She stalked toward him, but with the tree roots there to trip her up in the dark, Kylo couldn’t back away; he needed to stay close enough to catch her if she needed him. “Are you honestly so dense that you can’t see how much they love you? Because I won’t waste any more breath arguing with someone who can’t grasp such a basic fact.”

Kylo stopped backing up and Rey stumbled into him; he gently righted her, but she pushed away from him so fast that she stumbled back over the same root that had just sent her forward. He caught her again and this time held her. Then he pulled her in a little tighter; they struggled against each other for a moment, like a child holding a puppy that really didn’t fancy a hug. “Rey,” something in his voice must have stilled her. “Okay, wait, Rey.” He breathed her in as she froze in his arms. “I… hmmm. I’m trying, okay? To explain. I don’t think about it. Their love for me. I set it to one side.” Oh. That hurt. But it didn’t feel like a good explanation, like a solid line of argument. No, it felt true.

To her credit, Rey didn’t try to pull away or get a better look at him; she seemed to sense that he would delve deeper without her eyes on him, and that was true, too. “Why did you set it aside?”

Kylo breathed in and then out, hard. The explanation was down at the bottom of this muddy pond, and if he dove for it, he might drown before he could get back to the surface with the right words. But he forced one out: “Snoke.” Rey brought one hand up to his chest, almost like she was massaging the words from him. “I made a mistake. With Snoke. And it was a like a trapdoor shutting behind me. I could only go forward, and never back.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“Snoke promised me a position of power. Independent of my family. He delivered.” Kylo knew how hollow that sounded, but it’s what he’d wanted, as a moody teen, never able to hold enough of his parents’ attention, jealous of the attention they paid to others. Not reason enough, he could hear Rey’s voice whisper at the back of his mind. Not reason enough to give up a loving family. “I was young, but I knew what I wanted, and he gave it to me. Now I’m just living out my end of that bargain.”

“What bargain?” she whispered, so low that it almost sounded like he’d formed the question in his own mind.

“I am the heir apparent to the most powerful organisation on earth; it controls governments, it operates beyond the law. But I can no longer be part of this family.”

Rey’s fingers dug into his coat. “You can have your family back; they want you back. You can walk away from Snoke.”

Kylo finally looked down at her, and let his fingers trace her pretty face and slide along the edge of her scarf. “No,” he whispered. “I really can’t.” It must be obvious to her, the danger he’d put her in, but killing one assassin hadn’t ended the threat to her life. Now Snoke knew. The danger to both her and the child had increased a thousand-fold. “My parents will keep you safe here, you and the baby. You need to stay here, no matter where I go, okay? Promise, Rey. Just for a while, at least. They’ll help with baby, and you can study…”

She pushed away from him with a heavy sigh and carefully picked her way back onto the path. He hovered behind her, one hand beneath her elbow. “I don’t want to be a prisoner here, Kylo,” she muttered. “I want to be independent. I want to be in charge of my own fate.”

“That’s what I want, too,” he said before he could process what it meant. What it meant was, I want to be able to have you. Instead, he tried another tactic. “Hey,” he swung his hand down and gripped hers, “let me show you this pool.”

“This pool that’s being heated at incredible expense midwinter?” she clarified. He decided not to tell her about the sauna or about the swimming pond out in the wood.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful to swim in at night. C’mon. I’ll teach you,” he said immediately, and about half of the anger in Rey’s face drained away. “I was reading that swimming is good for pregnant women because it takes the pressure off your body…”

She looked incredulous. “You were reading? About pregnancy?”

“As happens,” he reached out cautiously and laid a hand on her belly, “I seem to have become involved in a pregnancy.”

She laughed, albeit bitter and ironic, and he took a chance on pulling her closer. She didn’t stop him. He let his hands drop to her belly and stroked very lightly over the anorak she’d borrowed from his closet, which she wore over the jumper she’d borrowed from his closet. Her hair was tucked beneath a bobble hat he’d worn on a ski holiday when he was ten. “Are you all right, Rey?” he asked in a more serious tone. “Yesterday… I just… I didn’t want you exposed to that kind of ugliness. I’m sorry. You know you’re safe now, right?”

“So everyone keeps telling me. Though the security guards and being locked in the house say different,” Rey reached around his back and ran her hand down his spine, stopping atop the handgun tucked into the back of his trousers. “Maybe not so safe, huh? And really, it’s way too late to save me from being exposed to ugliness. You’re the one who was brought up in the Enchanted Forest. I should be protecting you from life’s uglier truths.”

“I’ve seen plenty since leaving here…”

“Then why. The fuck. Did you leave? You’re an idiot.”

He threw up his hands. “Just… we will protect you from Hux. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I’d greatly prefer not to need protection, Kylo. This thing with Snoke…”

“This thing with Snoke cannot be solved tonight,” he said with finality, guiding her to the pool. He fumbled for the switch that turned on two dim pool lights, enough to enhance the moonlight, but no overwhelm it. Leia had surrounded the pool with trees and hedges to shield it from view; Kylo knew from bitter experience that she and Han liked to swim naked here on occasion, a boyhood lesson in the dangers of climbing out of his bedroom window for a clandestine midnight swim that he’d never forgotten. The pool was hidden from view until you were right beside it.

Rey’s hands and cheeks felt icy; he unbuttoned his coat and guided her hand beneath his jumper, placing her hands on his skin and then settling his own hands on top of hers. “You’re slowly freezing, Rey. Let’s try the pool. It’s warm as a hot spring,” he let his fingers hover over the zip of her borrowed anorak. This close to the pool, he caught the light scent of chlorine through the steam rising into the chill.

“So you’re expecting that I’ll just undress and get in a pool with you?”

“Not expecting. Hoping.” He slowly pulled the zipper of her jacket open, not believing how sexy his school jumper looked hugging her pregnant body. If only his teenaged self could have imagined this scenario. Once again, he caught himself wondering if he had some sort of previously unnoticed pregnancy kink, because the thought of seeing her naked had him actually salivating. “God, look at your breasts,” he breathed. “May I…” he lifted his hands to surround them, not quite touching.

“Umm…” she squirmed a little away from him, but she didn’t move very far.

“I’ll be so very gentle, Rey, I promise,” he added, and he stroked one hand from the top of her head, taking her bobble hat with him as he petted her hair and down to the back of her neck. “May I kiss you and touch your breasts?”

She tiptoed into him, pushing a kiss to his lips. “I’m still angry,” she whispered.

“Noted. Can I play with your gorgeous tits anyway?” He pressed his mouth to her and kissed her until she let him slip his tongue against hers, sliding his hands beneath jumper and t-shirt and revelling in the lack of a bra. “You were wearing a bra earlier. Was it hurting you, sweetheart?” Rey melted into him at the pet name. “Let me take care of your breasts, make you feel better.” Christ, her tits seemed to have doubled in size, soft and warm and filling his palms. He touched his thumbs to her nipples with the utmost care and she whimpered the softest little noise into his mouth. But he couldn’t linger here, letting his cock harden into the swell of her belly; he needed to get her into the warm pool before she noticed that it was about 5C on the decking.

Rey seemed to like deferring to him during sex, and he liked the illusion of control, especially after she’d been caustically expounding on his shit judgement. So while he watched for her to be on board with every move, he removed her clothes quickly, setting them aside on a disused table covered for winter with canvas sheeting. The light was soft and diffused by the steaming water, and she looked like a goddess, her hips and bum filled out since last he saw her naked. To say nothing of her belly, rounded and firm below the large, soft breasts.

He was going to come before he made it into the water, and long before he made it into her.

“You are so, so beautiful, sweetheart,” he dropped her jeans and shoes on top of the table, “more beautiful even than you were a couple of months ago.” She shivered in the cold and he immediately led her to the tiled steps in the shallow end, holding her hand to guide her down. “Just hold the edge here, and I’ll be in with you in a moment.”

Rey watched him as he removed his gun and laid it on the table, then stripped off his clothes with far less care than he’d shown hers, leaving them in a pile on the damp, cold ground. He didn’t follow her down the stairs, but walked slowly to the edge of the deep end, his erection unmistakeable, he knew. He watched her eyes following his body around the pool, her gaze sweeping over his abs and his cock. He dove in from the edge, vain enough to want to impress her, and covered the distance to her is four strong kicks, surfacing just behind where she stood in the shallow water. She had lowered herself into the warmth of the pool to her neck.

“It’s delicious, this water,” she told him. Her eyelashes were wet; she must have splashed her face with cupped hands. Her tongue touched her upper lip. “It’s salty,” she smiled. And fuck but that brought to mind other salty liquids he could offer her tongue, and he had to stroke himself a few times to remind his cock that he understood the urgency of the situation.

“Mmmhmm,” he gathered her wet body against his. “The salt makes the water softer and a little more buoyant. Here,” he glided the middle of the pool, where the water was too deep for her to stand but only to his shoulders. “You should try floating.” He nearly added that it would be good for her back, which he thought must ache with the added weight of her belly, but who was he kidding? He wanted to see her wet belly and tits hovering above the surface as he got one hand full of her arse.

“That feels good,” she sighed as he supported with one hand beneath her bum and the other between her shoulder blades. “You’re right, it’s like all the pressure is just… gone. My back was hurting so much…” Had it been? Kylo had noticed that she’d seemed physically off-kilter: the girl he’d first met had been catlike in her physical grace. He shifted his hands and began massaging her lower back and her shoulders. “Oh. Kylo.” She closed her eyes and smiled dreamily. “Oh. Thank you.”

There was no need to thank him. He licked the saltwater from one of her nipples, then the other, and while keeping up the massage, he lifted her just enough to let him lap at the undersides of her breasts. When her skin goosefleshed from cold as much as arousal, he lowered her to the water again and sucked softly on her nipples. When the back massage had her pliant and relaxed, he slid the hand from her lower back to her bum again, then shifted his thumb between her thighs. Even through the water, he could feel the slippery arousal at her entrance. He pressed his thumb to her clit instead. “Please, Kylo, oh god, I have wanted this. You have no idea…” she panted. “Please.”

“Put your hands behind your head, that’s it, hold onto the edge. Can you keep your head above the water? Yes? Good, that’s it, like that,” he praised, dunking under the water and emerging between her thighs, both palms massaging her arse as he spread her. Rey’s whole body went taut as he tilted her cunt above the surface and licked a first pass. “Is this good, Rey?”

“Oh. God. It’s so good.” She was trying to grind her hips to his face, but she had no leverage here. He took the hint anyway and pressed his tongue harder to her sex. It didn’t take long to make her come; he’d read this too, and only hoped it might be true, that pregnant women could be horny as teenaged boys.

She didn’t relax after she came, just vaulted into his arms and kissed him hungrily. “Let me lick you,” she begged, as though there was any possibility that he’d say no. He stretched over the steps, and she knelt on the lowest one, her body submerged to her shoulders and her hand under his upper thigh to hold him a bit above the water. The head of his cock in her mouth, the rest closed in her fist, his balls suspended in the warm water as she sucked and stroked. And he talked, because he couldn’t seem to shut himself up with her. “Take a little more, sweetheart. Can you just…” he reached down to tighten her grip on the base of his cock. “Just like that. Fuck, Rey, you are a siren. Suck a little harder…” She adjusted her technique with every command, did as he asked without question or hesitation, her cheeks hollowed with effort, one finger in his arse rubbing circles against his prostrate (and he’d thought for a moment that she’d tell him to go to hell for requesting a finger _against_ his arsehole; she went one better). She was a water nymph, a mermaid, a goddess, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her, watching her luscious breasts bouncing just under the surface as she worked him. He huffed out a garbled warning, but she carried on sucking him through his climax. By the time he caught his breath, she was giving him gentle little licks that cleaned away the last drops. 

Kylo breathed in the steam and the salt and marvelled at her face, earnest and smiling between his legs, her chin just submerged and level with his balls. He could count every waterdrop on her lashes, touch the flush on her cheeks and nose as he reached out a hand to trace her lips and jaw. She licked her lips self-consciously, and he lowered himself down to her step, kissing her deeply and engulfing her slippery, wet body with his own, her breasts and belly pressed to his chest and abs.

The satisfied, soft kisses continued until Kylo remembered her backache, and he turned her in his arms and began massaging her neck and shoulders and back, this time with no ulterior motives. She sighed as his hands worked into her knotted muscles.

“I’ve never had either before, but,” she let her head fall onto his shoulder as he worked down her spine, “I think this is doing me more good than therapy.”

He laughed – he’d hope he relaxed her more than Maz – but then added quietly, “You’ve never had a backrub?”

Rey turned her head and raised her eyes to his. She had that vaguely irritated look on her face again. “No, Kylo, never had a backrub. Again, who would have… oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groused, closing her eyes again and settling more firmly against his chest, “would you like to start a list of ‘stuff Rey’s never had’? Because we’re gonna be here for donkey’s.”

“Been to the beach?”

“No.”

“A theme park?”

“Never. Ditto softplay, before you ask.”

“Wouldn’t have occurred to me. A professional sporting event?”

“What? Like a football match?”

“Any sporting event that required a paid ticket.”

“No.”

“Music?”

“I have seen live music in parks, you know, free festivals, Pride, that sort of thing.”

“A movie in a theatre?”

“Yes! I’ve done that,” she grinned and pumped her fist in the water. “Hah! Got one.”

He kissed the back of her neck, smiling against her damp hair, and moved his hands above the water line, one draping over her forehead and the other massaging gently at the place where her neck met the base of her skull. She hummed dreamily, and he worked in silence for the next few minutes, barely moving, letting the pressure do the work. The water grew still around them.

Until it wasn’t. Kylo looked down at the surface, intrigued, as every half a minute of so, a ripple radiated out from the water around Rey’s bump. He finally brought one hand down to rest on her belly, and he felt the little jolt.

“Hiccoughs,” she explained sleepily, “Been going on for a few weeks.”

“Hiccoughs,” he repeated. “Is it okay that it… does that?”

A shrug. “Midwife said it’s normal.” She yawned. “Haven’t you been reading about this stuff, anyway?”

He had, though haphazardly, and he seemed to have missed the part where he had a child who could have the hiccoughs. He had read that pregnant women shouldn’t be submerged in hot water for too long, and though the pool was pleasantly warm rather than hot, he supposed that he should get her out, dried off, fed and into bed. Preferably his bed. So he guided her out of the pool via two towels in the changing rooms by the pool, and into her clothes, tucked his gun back into his trousers. She was nearly asleep by the time he got her back to the house.

“I stop thinking around you,” she grumbled as he opened the door next to the rear cloakroom for her. “But then when I’m away from you, I realise how much I hate you.” The words lacked venom.

“I’ll just have to keep you close, then,” he smiled, then he pulled off her muddy shoes and helped her up the stairs and into one of his t-shirts and then into bed. She didn’t seem to notice or care that this was his bed, rather than hers.


	23. The Perimeter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again at last. Thank you once again for the kudos and comments - I apologise if I didn't reply to you, but I hope you feel the gratitude through the silence! :)

For two days, Rey woke in Kylo’s bed, with Kylo’s arms around her middle, with Kylo breathing her hair into and out of his slack, open mouth. When that man slept, he slept. Deeply. It wasn’t a talent she’d ever picked up, but nothing Kylo had done in his life seemed to affect his sleep. And Rey found herself falling into the rhythm of living in Ben Solo’s childhood home.

His routine thus far: he woke early, snuggled in a way that involved his hands roaming her breasts with intent, and invariably got her off before slipping on a condom and finding some novel position that accommodated her belly. She pressed a pillow to her face to make sure that no one else in the house could hear the sounds he wrung out of her. He still talked nonstop filth, but now it was whispered into her ear, his groans as he came muffled against her breast or shoulder or mouth.

Then he’d fetch her a mug of tea and a plate of toast and rub her shoulders while asking her unsubtle questions about her background or her future plans. Sometimes these conversations felt like he was deposing her: when a question uncovered a weak spot, he zeroed in and pushed for more. 

At 8am, he’d walk her downstairs for a session with Maz. By now it was clear that Maz was a family friend (and more than friends with Chewie) who had a practice in London. She was seeing Rey before her office hours started, working through Rey’s frustrations and fears one at a time. 

Kylo would pick her up after her hour of therapy, looking her over critically as he walked her to the kitchen. Walked her, as in seriously accompanied her, on the 20-metre journey to the kitchen, as though she might get lost. More toast and tea, this time with eggs and fruit and juice that Han squeezed himself every morning on a whirring little machine that served only that purpose: Rey could barely comprehend a private person owning such specialised kitchen equipment. On the second morning, Kylo had pulled a bottle of multivitamins for pregnant women from the pocket of his cargo trousers, cracked it open and set one meaningfully next to her glass of juice. Where did he even get them? She’d not seen him leave the property.

During the day, when he’d disappear into Leia’s study with his mother and his Uncle Luke, she’d work on cars with Chewie and Han, or take spins around the track with Han on the sidelines, yelling instructions and encouragement. She learned to parallel park with precision accuracy. 

Kylo, though, didn’t disappear for long. He made her syrupy tea and then wandered through the massive house in search of her, insulated mug in hand. If she was standing over a troublesome car with Han, leaning under the bonnet to assess some damage or other, Kylo would appear behind her with a scarf, or a warmer coat, or a ski hat rummaged from the dozens in a box in his wardrobe. When he interrupted her driving lesson on the track to inspect the temperature of her fingers, Rey snapped. “Don’t you have an evil cartel to run or something?” He’d just shrugged and changed her thin cotton gloves for fleece-lined leather.

If he was suddenly acting more like a boyfriend, and less like the lust-driven mafioso who had told her not to expect any involvement beyond the financial, then Rey was willing to let herself pretend. The pretence felt warm and cared-for and safe. It was picked to shreds in every therapy session, then re-knitted when he met her at the door and kissed her on the head.

It was a time long enough, those two days, for Luke and Chewie to start making fun of him, but apparently not long enough for him to notice what they were doing.

“Ben, I don’t think Rey’s eaten anything for an hour. Maybe you should bring her a sandwich,” she overheard Luke saying conversationally on her third morning, as she wiped the mud from her boots on the kitchen mat. And without a second’s hesitation, Kylo had closed his laptop on the kitchen table and was pulling cold chicken and lettuce from the fridge.

Chewie signed something, and Luke translated to Kylo’s back, where he was buttering some thick, white bread: “Chewie says she likes tomatoes.”

Kylo ducked back into the fridge and found a tomato to slice as the two men stifled a laugh. When Rey took a seat at the table, Kylo set the sandwich before her, kissed her cheek, and then sat down beside her. While she ate (it was a good sandwich, even if she hadn’t been hungry), he pulled her feet into his lap unbidden and administered a footrub. Han, making himself his own sandwich, stood behind Kylo and raised his eyebrows.

“Rey, I think you’re taking advantage of my son.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Leia wandered in with a stack of files in her arms and her reading glasses pushed up in her hair. “She’s carrying his child! Her feet are swelling.”

“If anyone’s taking advantage of anyone, I’d say you’re taking advantage of having a trained mechanic at your beck and call,” Kylo glared at his father. “Her feet are swollen because she’s been diagnosing your Lotus all day. And her shoulders hurt from hunching over the bonnet…”

Han looked appalled. “Rey, I’m really sorry, kid. I thought that you were enjoying keeping busy…”

“I am!” she interjected. “Kylo, stop it. I’m fine. I’ll put my feet up after dinner.” She tried to pull her foot out of his lap, but he gripped it more tightly.

“You don’t have to work for a living here, Rey. You’ll be given everything you need and you don’t have to worry about paying anything back,” Kylo carried on.

Suddenly, Leia was standing behind her, “Rey knows that, don’t you, my dear? She and our grandchild are welcome here for as long as she wants to stay.” She felt Leia’s hands passing over her hair. “But Rey still wants to work, Ben. She has another ten weeks to go before her due date.”

Kylo shoved his chair back and Rey’s foot fell to the floor. “She needs to know that she doesn’t need to earn her keep,” he growled at his parents and uncles. “She will work until she quite literally passes out. I’ve seen what it looks like when Rey works herself into a hospital bed. And if I can see that she’s hurting, that her legs are swollen to her knees, then the rest of you can figure it out, too.”

“Son, I would never ask Rey to do more than she feels like doing,” Han tried, at the same time that Chewie started signing furiously at Kylo, though Rey had no idea what he was saying. Luke sat at the table, deep in thought, taking in all the raised tempers around him. He opened his mouth once or twice to intervene, then seemed to think the better of it.

Did Kylo still think that she was irresponsible because she’d ended up in hospital? She’d been doing the best that she could, and working through her sickness hadn’t really been negotiable. She would have starved, frozen and been kicked out of her flat if she had no income. She knew that Han and Leia would welcome her for a time, but in her experience, being a stranger in a home was a precarious position, and no amount of well-meant words would change her mind on the matter. Once this immediate danger had been resolved, Rey would need to find a new flat and a proper job and plan out her studies. She could save any contributions made by Kylo or his parents, and then when they all forgot about her and stopped paying, she’d have a cushion of money to fall back on.

But when Kylo leaned over Rey to shout at his mother, Rey felt her first hint of fear of this man. She didn’t like yelling and she hated men trying to intimidate women – she’d seen it plenty, had plenty of it directed at her or at the women from social services sent to extricate her from homes run by domineering wankers. Leia was tough and loud, but Kylo dwarfed her.

Indignant, Rey stood with as much grace as she could manage on admittedly swollen legs, putting herself between Kylo and Leia. Kylo suddenly found himself delivering his shouted curses at Rey’s face rather than his mother’s, and he snapped shut his mouth. Rey leaned into his space and summoned a faux calm: “You will stop yelling at your mother.” Kylo blinked, stunned, and stood straight again, putting distance between himself and Rey.

“I was not yelling,” he finally said.

“Yes, you were. And if you’d yell at your mother this way, that means that you’d yell at me just the same.”

No one else in the room breathed. Rey was shaking with the adrenaline of standing up to him, but she tried to tamp it down; if he did hit her, Luke and Chewie were just on the other side of the table, seconds from being able to help.

“I would not. I would never,” he answered solemnly, and Rey wanted to believe that. She really did. But this man was a professional liar. These people weren’t her family. This pretty little illusion of an attentive boyfriend couldn’t be allowed to go so far that she failed to see reality bleeding through the cracks.

Rey could feel the gaze of Han and Luke and Chewie and Leia at her back, and she knew that no one was saying anything because they wanted to avoid setting Kylo off again. So Rey reached out her hand to Kylo, “Should we go somewhere else to discuss this?”

He snatched at her hand by way of answer.

…

Rey was wobbling on her feet and fuck - just fuck! - Han Solo for enticing her to stand for too long in the cold. Her socks seemed to have stretched to twice their height and width. Yet here she stood in front of his mother like an avenging archangel, except that she was trembling in fear of him. Of him! As if he’d ever, ever hurt her.

She was pulling him along now, out the kitchen door and into the entryway, grabbing coats and hats and heading into the garden. He wanted to point out that a walk was not what he’d had in mind, that he wanted her to sit down and rest, let him massage her feet and legs until she sighed that contented little noise that she made at any sort of physical comfort. But he didn’t want to disagree over something minor when a major disagreement still hovered over them.

Rey wandered aimlessly, choosing forks in the path at random; he considered telling her where each path led so that she could choose a destination, but she didn’t seem bothered about where they were going. In silence. Until:

“Kylo, I know that I am stuck here temporarily. And so are you. But we both have lives to continue once the danger is passed. I will find a new flat, you will go back to yours, and I will need to get through my studies and I’ll need to work.” Kylo stayed quiet as she spoke. He wanted to understand her. He wanted to understand how she say this situation, and how she saw him. “I know that you won’t be involved with the baby, perhaps Han and Leia will want to be somewhat…” Kylo had to put a hand over his mouth to stop the laughter. _Somewhat_? They’d lock Rey and the baby in the house if they could, and never let either go. “So a little bit of swelling is nothing to worry over. There will be plenty of days where I’ll be going off to work with little or no sleep, getting the little one to daycare, doing my homework after bath and bedtime… this is easy compared to what’s coming. I mean, I don’t have any experience with parents, but I’ve read lots on internet forums and I’m getting an idea.” She nearly smacked her nose into a stone wall that marked the perimeter of the garden. The top of the wall, half a metre over Kylo’s head, was embedded with glass shards and topped with barbed wire. Huh, he thought. The wire was new.

Rey turned to face him. “I am not ignorant, or weak, or irresponsible.” How could she think that he thought any of those things about her? “I passed out once, but I was very ill at the time, and now I’m better. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Kylo looked down at her: she stood as tall and straight as she could, but despite the belly and the breasts, Rey had almost no extra padding on her. She was still spindly as a sapling, though muscled and toned and strong. She also looked achingly vulnerable and lost. What would become of them, once he slipped through all the legal loopholes and went back to his life, back to his work?

He reached a hand into her hair and pulled her towards him; she put a hand on his chest to steady herself. He had the back of her head under his palm, his fingers curled around either side of her ears. “I am sorry, Rey,” he began, and when she blinked as though trying to process that, he added: “I apologise. I didn’t know who you were, before. I know now. And I’m sorry if you thought I was saying you wouldn’t be a good mother. Everything that you did to make sure that you and the baby would survive… I can’t begin to tell you how impressive that is.” He sifted his fingers through her hair. “I’m worried about you, and I’m angry at my parents for putting you in harm’s way, and… listen, I’m sorry that I yelled. Even if it wasn’t at you.”

Rey looked unconvinced. “Shouting scares me,” she admitted.

“No more shouting.”

“And you don’t know what it looks like… you towering over your mother with this mask of anger, yelling at her.”

He kissed the top of her head. “It won’t happen again, Rey.”

She sighed and let her head rest against his chest, and for a while he just stroked her hair and her back, feeling completely at ease with her, the way he did when they woke in his bed. He supposed he had seen a spark of something special in her that night at the party, but she kept proving herself far more than he could have imagined. He bracketed her between his body and the garden wall, moulding himself as near as possible around her bump. He coaxed her to look up at him and leaned in very slowly to kiss her, giving her plenty of time to shove him away. Instead she twisted her fingers into the hair at his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Christ, it felt good to have evidence that she wanted him, even if she was frustrated with him. He knew that he should be distancing himself from her, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Every night he told himself that she should sleep in her own bed, without him, and every night he found himself sweaty and sated and wrung out on the sheets next to her, both of them breathing too hard, Rey with the sweetest, most satisfied smile on her beautiful face. She was intoxicating.

One of her hands had shimmied its way under his coat, jumper and t-shirt and was tracing the muscles between his shoulder blades. His hands sought out her breasts, and he was just about to suggest that they head back inside, to a warm room and a warm bed, when his mobile phone vibrated on-off, on-off, on-on, on-off against his hip. He immediately removed his left hand from her breast and brought it against her mouth, pressing her firmly but gently against the wall and shaking his head urgently. She needed to stay quiet, and when she breathed a squeak against his palm, he flattened his hand more insistently over her mouth. The vibrating against his hip repeated the pattern, and he pulled the phone into his right hand. That signal from the security team meant that someone unknown was over their property line.

The phone vibrated again, this pattern different. _Not a drill_, that one meant. Kylo swore under his breath and pulled the gun from the waistband of his trousers. Rey gasped into his hand. “There’s an intruder,” he whispered into her hair. “Stay very quiet.” He unwrapped his dark scarf from his neck, wrapping it quickly over the reflective material on Rey’s borrowed anorak. He helped her to crouch down at the base of the wall with him and bunched some hanging creepers around her; in the distance, he could see that every light in the house was now blazing: his parents knew, and so would Luke and Chewie.

He kept the phone hidden between Rey’s body and his, the edge of his scarf pulled from where it rested on her belly to cover the light. A text from Chewie, giving the coordinates for the perimeter breach: it was on the far side of two large fields from where they crouched, but a fit person could run that in under ten minutes. He needed to get Rey into the house; he had to assume that an assassin would have infrared goggles and would find them easily, even in the dark, even given the shooter’s likely assumption that he and Rey were already in the house. He texted their location to Chewie and told him that they were making for the door furthest from the breach.

He tugged her up next to him, signalling for silence, and threw his arm around her. Using the cover of trees as best he could, they moved quickly toward the house. Any attempt at running drew a sharp, pained huff from Rey, who was holding the bottom of her bump as if to support it. Dammit, she couldn’t run. He swept her up and dashed across the rocky ground between the meandering bends of the paved path that led to the kitchen, watching his footing best he could with the bulk of Rey in his arms. Controlling the volume of his breathing, he set her down by the last copse of trees before the 30 metres of open lawn around the house and pushed her down to squat on the grass. In the distance, the door to the kitchen stood slightly ajar, the shadow of Chewie hulking just beyond, a hint of movement that looked like his mother half-hidden by the kitchen cabinets. At an open window on the second floor, Kylo saw Luke with a sniper rifle, scanning the garden.

Kylo signalled to them, letting them know he was ready to move on the house; he dropped to one knee in front of Rey and pressed a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back to get a good look at her, her eyes tracked his face from his chin until she met his gaze. He’d expected her to look terrified, but she didn’t. No, she looked resigned, wary, completely closed in on herself.

“Rey, I’m going to get us into the house. It’s better if I have use of my right hand, so can you stay next to me as we run?” Kylo had a choice, put Rey behind him to shield her from the front, or in front of him to shield her from behind. With Luke and probably his father scanning the woods, he gambled that behind was probably safer – if there was a shooter in the woods, Han or Luke would likely have spotted that already. “Stay behind me, right at my back.” He felt her nod against his neck.

And then they ran.

…

Seeing Leia emerge from the kitchen doorway with a shotgun at her shoulder, aimed at the woods behind them, nearly shocked Rey into a stumble. But she had a solid grip on the back of Kylo’s coat and he was moving fast; she had no time to think or question. Whatever she’d thought this family might be… they seemed something else now. Her blood was pounding in her ears; she could hear her own quiet breathing like a roar.

She didn’t even hear the first shot, when it came.

She only knew in hindsight what had happened: he whipped his gaze to one side and fired. Then he seemed to trip, righting himself quickly with a muffled shout. He forced her to his right side and turned with her still at his back.

She heard the next shot quite distinctly. She felt Kylo jolt with the force of it. He shoved her the last few metres into the kitchen doorway, Chewie’s arms catching her before she could fall. Chewie dragged her away from the threshold, Leia’s hands reaching for Kylo. But he had dropped to the ground, rolled against the wide open door and taken aim in the direction that the shots had come from. More shooting, from Kylo, from others. And then screaming. Screaming from outside, screaming from Leia. Chewie and Leia, pulling Kylo into the house, Han shouting down the phone for an ambulance. Leia’s hands were on her, ripping off the scarves and hat and anorak and jumper.

“Are you hurt? Rey, listen to me. Are you hurt?” Leia was running her hands over Rey’s belly, over her arms, her face.

In front of her Kylo swore, as Chewie yanked the layers of clothing from his body. Without standing, Rey crawled the metre or so to Kylo, placing her back against the wall.

“Get her away from the door!” Kylo hissed, wincing at the effort.

“Shooter’s dead, Ben, you got him,” Han knelt by his son, looking for gunshot wounds as he spoke. “Rey’s fine, not a scratch. You did good there, kid.”

Without realising that she was doing it, Rey had guided Ben’s head to the kitchen floor, resting on his discarded coat. She was stroking her hands over his hair, trying to puzzle him out by studying his face. He gripped her hand, which had somehow settled on the side of his face. “Are you okay?” he demanded.

“I’m not hurt, Kylo. I’m fine,” she reassured him. She looked at where Han was pressing a tea towel against his left bicep and Chewie had wrapped a length of gauze around his lower left leg. “You were shot,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed, dazed. “Fucking stings.”

She choked on her laugh. In the distance, an ambulance siren carried over the cold night air. Han appeared on the floor beside her, slinging an arm around her shoulders; he didn’t say anything pointless and comforting, and Rey appreciated that. “Luke’s still keeping watch from upstairs, but I think our shooter was working alone,” Leia added, sitting on the floor with everyone else and taking one of Kylo’s hands.

“If he hadn’t been fired at the shooter first, I’d be dead,” Kylo said in a flat voice. “Showed me where he was hiding.”

“I think you did that yourself, but I’m glad he helped,” Leia patted his hand. Kylo hissed as Chewie poured rubbing alcohol over the wound on his leg and pressed more gauze to the site. He seemed to have staunched the bleeding; Han reached for the alcohol and gave Kylo’s arm the same treatment. Rey watched him squeeze his mother’s hand in response. “Do you feel like you can move?” Leia continued once Han had finished cleaning the wound.

Han and Chewie supported him in moving to the nearest sofa where he could stretch out; Rey sat at one end so that he could rest his head in her lap. She was still there, stroking his hair, as the paramedics sewed up his arm where the bullet and entered and exited and rebandaged his leg; as the police came and flooded the scene; as Luke informed them that Kylo would be taken into custody again, because shooting someone dead with an illegal firearm was a violation of the conditions of his release; as Leia assured Rey that that Luke would sort it out and Kylo would be back soon.

After Luke and Kylo disappeared with the police, Rey sat on the sofa for a long time, staring blankly ahead. Kylo had saved her life. He had put his own body between her and bullets. He was also the reason that someone was shooting at her in the first place. And those facts spun round and round in her head for the rest of the night, until Luke returned in the early hours of the morning, grim-faced and alone.


	24. The Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge thank you for the kudos and comments and bookmarks. It means a lot. Hope everyone is well in these difficult times.

When Luke inevitably charmed the judge into releasing his nephew – nothing could be found to tie Kylo to the unregistered gun, and Kylo claimed that he’d picked it up after the assassin dropped it – the two men walked out of the magistrate’s court together. Luke segued left to his car, but when Kylo carried on straight into the darkened green across from the building, he pulled up short.

“Come on, Ben, let’s get home. You must be exhausted. And in pain,” Luke opened the driver’s side door and stood patiently waiting.

His left arm ached all the way down to his fingers and the pain had seeped into his chest. “I have some work to take care of,” he deflected, and carried on into the park.

“Ben! What are you on about? You need to come back with me.” Luke gripped the open door and worked his jaw. When Kylo carried on walking across the grass towards the main road, his uncle shouted out, “What about Rey?”

Kylo stopped and half-turned toward his uncle. The first thing that popped into his head was, _Tell her that I love her_. But that was crazy… he didn’t, did he? And he certainly hadn’t shared it with her if he did. Telling her that he needed to murder Hux in order to keep both her and his position safe was probably also not the right thing to say. That he’d be back? He didn’t want to make that promise. That he needed to meet Snoke? Definitely not information that he would be sharing.

“Tell her that I’m thinking of her, always,” he finally landed on. He’s already texted Finn his location, and his assistant would be showing up in the next few minutes, and Kylo was distracted with scanning the empty streets for his car.

Luke scoffed. “_Thinking _of her? Ben, you best get yourself back to the house. Rey is expecting you to come home…”

Kylo nearly snapped that Han and Leia’s house was not his home, but the last few days said otherwise to some extent. He would admit to himself that he had felt very much at home, and Rey’s constant insistence that his parents loved him, well, it had sunk into even his thick skull. And fuck it all, but he bloody well wanted to go home right now and slip under the duvet next to a warm, welcoming, soft Rey; it had taken no time at all for him to think of whatever roof she lay under as ‘home’. He’d feel the gentle little turns and pushes of the baby under his palm. “Yup,” he called back instead, spotting Finn across the green. “I’m thinking of her.”

Kylo slipped into the passenger seat of his own Jag; he’d texted Finn from his parents’ house, before the police had a chance to take him away, to pick the car up and meet him once Luke arranged his release. For all his hostility to Luke, he knew that his uncle could work legal miracles, and even though Kylo knew himself to be the more talented lawyer, that might just be because he was less concerned than Luke with ethics. Still, Luke had him freed without conditions, an exceptional result. Probably a better result than his uncle had intended.

“Good to see you, Mr Ren,” Finn greeted him. “How are you feeling? Do we need to call out your doctor?”

Kylo rotated his left shoulder, which sent pain spiralling down his shoulder. His leg hurt, but the bullet had only grazed him there; his arm had been shot clean through. “I’ll need some painkillers once all this is over,” he conceded. “Get them ordered. Did you arrange brunch?”

Finn shifted into second to wind round a tight corner. “I already picked up some painkillers – they’re in the glove compartment along with a bottle of water. I also arranged the brunch, but I’ll leave it to you to buy flowers to cement your alibi.”

Kylo reached into the glove compartment with his right hand and fished out the drugs and water. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

“Snoke has washed his hands of Hux – just like he told you. That’s coming from everywhere I’ve checked.”

“I’ve heard the same. He’s leaving Hux to me,” Kylo agreed. “Resources?”

Finn tilted his head toward the passenger side. “Under your seat.” He paused. “Mr Ren, ummm, I would be remiss in not suggesting that we hire someone to take care of Hux. As we normally would.”

Kylo stared straight ahead through the damp windscreen. He should - he knew he should – follow Finn’s advice. He couldn’t be near a third dead body in under a week. But equally, that snubnosed shitbag needed to die in a certain way, in tortuous agony, in order to send the proper message to anyone else looking to use Rey as a way to get to him. The more Hux suffered, the better the chance that no one would dare target Rey and his child. And they needed to know that Kylo had done it himself, that he would personally hunt down and destroy anyone who threatened her in the future.

Kylo pulled a plastic bag from under the seat. Two burner phones, a clean 9mm and ammunition, a scalpel and a butcher knife, a pair of disposable plastic coveralls. He’d been thinking, while Luke did the hard work of getting him out of the courthouse without being charged, that he wanted to use a hammer and nails on parts of Hux’s anatomy as well, but he could work with the kit that Finn had brought along.

Finn drove into the parking garage beneath their office building, and they made sure to walk slowly past every CCTV camera between the car and the door to the firm’s office. Sitting around a table in the conference room were two junior solicitors and an intern, rubbing sleep from their eyes and gripping coffee mugs.

“You’ve been called in at this ungodly hour,” Kylo boomed as he entered, “because it would seem that my partner, Armitage Hux, has been extensively involved in criminal activities.” He waited out their confused and shocked reactions. This lot, the dimmest of his hires, had never twigged what their firm really did for a living. “I’m as shocked and saddened as you are,” he shook his head. “But I need to start digging through all of his casework, looking for irregularities.” He nodded to the fifty or so boxes stacked on the conference table and the floor. “I’m having the three of you take the first shift. You can hand over to the morning crew when they arrive for work.”

He knew damned well that anyone looking would only find what Finn had introduced. Hux might be a traitorous, power-hungry fuck, but he was a good lawyer, and he wouldn’t leave a criminal trail that this lot could uncover, nothing that would endanger Kylo’s clients.

Kylo worked through the next few hours, contacting his own clients to reassure them and letting the team of halfwits discover Finn’s clues. As soon as the clocks ticked past 8am and the office began to fill up with his employees, he placed a call from his office landline.

“Auntie, I’m sorry that I didn’t get back to you sooner. Mum told me that you’d wanted me to stop by, but I’m sure you know about all that’s happened in the last week…”

On the other end of the line, Giulia waited only a beat before she replied smoothly, “Oh, how lovely, Kylo. I was hoping you’d take me up on my invitation. I haven’t seen you in ages and it’s been weeks since Han and Leia have been by. I was so sorry to hear about what happened to our lovely Rey. Is she well?”

“She is, thank God. There was another attempt on her life last night, though, and I just want to talk it all over with someone other than my parents, or Luke. I was shot, actually…”

“Oh, Kylo!” There was real concern in her voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m in some pain, but it’s nothing too serious. Listen, would 10 be okay? I’m working tonight and I’ll probably want to be asleep by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, anything for you! Are waffles still your favourite?”

He forced a chuckle for effect. “You know me so well, Auntie Giulia.”

“Well, I can remember a little boy once eating so many that he was ill,” she said fondly. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then.”

Kylo doublechecked that Finn’s plastic bag of goodies was stored in a bag that he’d left at the office to haul files to and from his flat. He stuck his head into the open plan office floor and announced to the office, “Good morning, everyone. Listen, I was injured last night and I was wondering if anyone could drive me over to my aunt’s house? My arm’s killing me and I don’t want to drive on painkillers.”

Dopheld Mitaka, one of the better attorneys, volunteered, and Kylo walked into Giulia’s by 10.15, a bouquet in his hand that he’d picked up at a busy florist by his office. He made a point of knocking over a display and then paying over the odds for his flowers as recompense. They’d remember him.

Giulia greeted him in the front garden with a warm hug, witnessed by Mitaka. She offered the junior attorney a cup of coffee, which he declined out of fear of his boss, and then Kylo followed her into the kitchen.

“So now I’m Auntie Giulia again? No more of that Mrs Amata cazzate, huh?” she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Kylo briefly felt about eight years old again.

“Forgive me, Auntie,” he began, handing over the bouquet.

She dropped it onto the kitchen countertop. “Sit down and have a damn waffle, Kylo. And am I still expected to call you that?”

“It’s still my name.”

“It most certainly is not,” she shot back. She forked a freshly made waffle off the iron and plonked it onto a plate, spooned some blueberries over the top and sprinkled icing sugar to finish it off. “Eat that,” she said pointedly. “And explain yourself.”

“I need to eliminate a threat to Rey’s life, and I need you to vouch for my whereabouts.” The waffle was still the stuff of childhood dreams, when Han would drop him off to be looked after by one of his few business contacts who could be trusted with a child’s welfare. “I know you think of Rey as one of your adoptees. Hux sent a shooter for her last night.”

Giulia sat at the table and took off her glasses. “She’s okay?”

Kylo swallowed a mouthful and shook his head. “No, she’s a mess – she’s pregnant and she has assassins trying to stab or shoot her to death. I mean, she’s not injured. I caught the bullets tonight. Anyway, a contact of mine in Singapore tracked Hux down through a network in South London. Here’s here.”

Giulia sighed. “How long do you need?”

“I’ll be here until 2.30, then Finn will come and pick me up, drive me home via a couple of verifiable stops.”

She nodded. “Okay, Ben.” He bristled but she just kicked him under the table. “Finish your breakfast first.”

…

If Kylo had temporarily doubted his position in Snoke’s empire after the first attempt on Rey’s life, seeing Hux tied up on floor of an abandoned joinery under some train tracks near Elephant & Castle put all his doubts to rest. The Singaporean connection had found him, a Mexican cartel had tracked him to the Russians, and the Russians had not only willingly handed him over, they’d left him gift-wrapped in a sound-dampened room that had once been used to keep the noise of jigsaws and wood-working from the nearby flats. Hux was naked, bound at the wrist and ankles with zip ties so tight that they’d already sliced into his flesh. Assessing the surroundings at 11.45 on an overcast winter day, Kylo decided to make this quick; the more time he spent at Giulia’s, the harder it would be for the police to poke holes in his story. He only hoped that when post mortem photos inevitably surfaced in court that Rey would never have cause to see them.

Hux sealed his worst fate by hissing, the moment Kylo had pulled the oily rag from his mouth, “At least that trashy bitch is dead, along with your bastard. Worth. It.” And Hux _grinned_. Kylo just shook his head slowly, not bothering to say a word.

Despite his desire to make Hux hurt for as long as possible, in the end he killed him within half an hour. He’d not used any of the materials that Finn had provided, since the old carpentry shop had plenty of rusted tools and fixings that made for wonderfully motivational photos of Hux in the throes of agony. Kylo had made sure to cut his tongue out first, a powerful signal in mob culture, and from then on just mutilated Hux’s body until he died, best Kylo could tell, from a heart attack even before the blood loss.

He’d never tortured anyone before; never had to. His skills lay in making sure Snoke was never held legally responsible for his crimes. He’d facilitated death, sure, plenty of deaths. He’d killed himself, rarely, all of them absolute scum, and all them killed with a gun, from a distance. That had been earlier, when he’d been proving himself to Snoke, climbing up the ladder, a ladder which he’d later realised he’d already been on top of. Before he’d even begun, Snoke had wanted him for his name, for the value of revenge on his family, to settle old grudges and slights.

Never before had Kylo killed someone in such a way that the pain and horror beforehand counted. Certainly, he’d never before enjoyed it. But he did enjoy it. He enjoyed Hux’s screams, he enjoyed hammering, sawing, letting the uptight, red-headed shit get a good look at the tools he was about to use on him. For the danger Hux had brought to Rey’s doorstep, robbing her of the beautiful home that she’d adored.

He left the body where it lay for the police to record in minute detail. The crime scene investigators’ photos would soon be making their way around the world, to every criminal organisation that worked for Kylo. What happened to Hux would keep Rey safe, unless Snoke himself went after her.

And that was a contingency that Kylo was planning for, too.

He cleaned the scene, erased every trace of himself and the Russians. He showered at Giulia’s to make sure that Rey would never have to tell police that he’d seemed keen to wash away evidence. He vomited every molecule of the food that Giulia had served him. And then he cried on the floor of her bathroom until she pulled him out of there and forced a shot of grappa down his throat.

“Peppe was the same, you know,” she sighed. “And the things your father did for your mother… Maybe not what you’ve done today, no, but hard things. Mortal things.” She petted his hair until he felt almost calm again. “Peppe managed to escape. Han escaped. Giovanni’s never been part of it. Why are you letting yourself sink further into the hells, Ben?”

Finn drove him back to his parents’ home, via his doctor’s office for a check on his stitches and a change of dressing. All the home, Finn’s business-like tone was a jarring juxtaposition to the last 24 hours. They agreed to wait 24 hours to leak information to the police, to give the predicted frost and rain time to dirty any evidence that Kylo or the Russians might have missed.

The house was quiet when he returned mid-afternoon: his mother had gone into her office in town, and Luke had done the same. Chewie and Han were involved in a game of cards on the kitchen table, silently playing out their hands. They looked Kylo over head to foot when he came in.

His father heaved a sigh. “It’s taken care of then?”

Kylo blanked the question and looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Rey?”

Chewie signed that she’d been up most of the night, pacing and marching up and down the stairs, refusing to sleep after he didn’t come home with Luke.

“She sleeping now?”

Chewie tilted his head to look at him. Han took over: “Yeah, she fell asleep a couple of hours ago. She’s in your room.” He lifted an eyebrow at his son. “Ben, she’s a good girl. A very young, vulnerable girl. If you don’t intend to stick around and help…”

“Do not,” Kylo hissed, “Just do not… I am really not in the mood right now for your advice.” His father looked as though Kylo had struck him. Kylo filled a glass with water and headed up the stairs two at a time.

Rey was snoring softly, marooned on her back in the middle of his bed, mouth open and belly exposed to the cold breeze through the open window. She looked like she’d been sweating. And crying. Her hair needed a wash and her could make out a hint of dried snot around the raw base of her nose. She had a shredded tissue clutched in one hand.

Fuck but she was beautiful.

Guilt accosting him from every side, Kylo locked the door and shut the window and curtains. He stripped down and climbed into the space left for him on the bed. She honked an undignified grunt when he curled around her body, but she shifted onto her side just the same, allowing him to snuggle in behind her and hold on. He stayed awake for a while, one hand on her belly, smiling into her neck every time the baby stretched or kicked, occasionally helping himself to a long inhale of her scent.

He’d done the right thing. Given the situation, he’d made the best possible decision, he told himself. But he wanted to climb out of the hell that necessitated these actions. He could still hear Giulia softly telling him, “We can get you out, Ben, just let us help.”

If there was a way. If there was a way for him to have everything in his arms right now, and no repercussions for this woman and this child… Fuck it, he’d made his bed, and it wasn’t the one he was in right now. He’d enjoy this while he could though, he thought, as he finally fell asleep.

…

Rey waited until the next morning. She’d slept very little, and that on the sofa, waiting for Kylo to come home. He hadn’t.

So by 7am on the morning after nearly being gunned down in an expensive garden, Rey changed into another of Ben Solo’s oversized school jumpers, and marched downstairs to the kitchen. Han was already up, methodically turning a mesh bag of Spanish oranges into juice. Luke was at the table, buttering toast and speculating loudly on Kylo’s whereabouts. Leia had apparently already left for her office in town.

“Good morning, kid!” Han called out, setting a glass of juice down at the seat opposite Luke. “Got your breakfast on the go already. How are you feeling? Leia said to make sure you got a nap in this afternoon. Should I ring for the doc to come round this morning? Maz will be here by about midday, she said, she’s sorry she’s running late and oh!” He hunted about in a cupboard above the kettle. “Ben texted to make sure that you take one of these.” He set one of the vitamin pills next to her juice.

Luke raised an eyebrow at Han’s monologue, but wordlessly pushed his plate of toast toward her, along with the jar of jam.

Rey downed the pill and the juice. “So.” She took a bite of the toast and carried on speaking without waiting to swallow. “You…” she pointed at Luke with the crust of his toast, “are a barrister, yes?” Luke nodded. “Leia, of course, is a judge. And you,” she turned in her chair and pointed at Han, “I’m less clear on you. I know about your racing career; I know that you buy cars and that you fix them; I know that you have clients. But I’m not entirely sure why a family with a judge, a lawyer and a racing driver are all whipping out guns and shooting intruders. Like you’ve done it before.”

“Smuggling,” Han explained, and sat down at the table with them, handing Rey an egg he’d just fried up for her. “Before I met Leia, before Ben. I flew shipments between here and southern Italy, mainly. Illegally. My main contact was Peppe Amata, Giulia’s husband. He came from a long line of import/exporters who worked pretty exclusively for organised crime. Anyway, I met Leia, and I realised that I needed to get out. Luke here,” he jerked his thumb towards his brother-in-law, “managed to get both me and Peppe out of that life, but it wasn’t easy. And Snoke… the police investigating us wound up investigating him, as he was our main buyer, and it all just kind of spiralled.” Han threw up his hands. “I went legit after Leia. I couldn’t fly anymore, not officially… they took away my pilot’s license as part of the deal. So the next best thing was really fast cars. And here we are.”

Rey dug her fork into the egg and scooped some of the yolk onto her second piece of toast. “And what happened to Kylo last night?” she turned to Luke.

“I had him released, no charges to answer, free to go,” he said, “and then he went. Finn, his personal assistant, picked him up. We haven’t heard from him since, just the text about the vitamins.”

Rey had the feeling that she was being told one small part of the truth, so she stared down both me, switching her gaze from one to the other. “One of you needs to tell me what is going on. Now please.” She sat back and crossed her arms over her bump.

Han rubbed the back of his neck. “Rey… kid… we just, we can’t, ummm…”

“There are a number of topics that you’re better off knowing nothing about, Rey,” Luke jumped in. “Ben will be fine, and I suspect he’ll be home by this evening.”

“I am not some delicate little flower and I deserve to know what’s going on!”

“No, Rey, you don’t deserve that,” Luke told her kindly but firmly. “I’m sorry, but legally speaking, you are far better off not knowing about any of this. And whether you like it or not, we are going to treat you differently than we would if you weren’t pregnant. You’ve already been exposed to far too much stress.” 

Rey had no idea what to do with that statement. She felt offended – she’d dealt with constant stress her entire life, and this seemed like a very bad time to stop. She was in danger, and she wanted to know how bad it was. There was no trusting that these people would have her best interests at heart; she needed to be able to take care of herself.

“Look, kid,” Han reached out to pat her hand. “We’ve been dealing with this kind of threat for decades now. We will take care of you. You need to trust us.”

“Why should I trust you?” she fumed. “I was nearly killed last night. Kylo was shot twice!”

“We have spent all night and this morning reviewing our security and tightening our protection, but our emergency plans did work last night,” Han held up a hand to stop her objection. “The breach was picked up and transmitted to us immediately. We all followed our emergency plan, even Ben. What do you think the outcome would have been if you’d been back in your flat, alone?”

“I took care of it last time…”

Han stood up and walked toward the kitchen door, then spun back to face her, one finger pointing at her, “You should not be fighting off murderers by yourself, Rey! You were lucky to escape that attempt in your flat, and you would have been killed this time. Stop being so stubborn!” Luke threw a piece of toast at Han, which hit him in the forehead. He looked at his brother-in-law in shock. “What the hell, Luke?”

“We’re supposed to be calmly reassuring the girl, not yelling at her and raising her stress levels.” He looked back to Rey. “We are doing everything that we can, Rey, to protect you, yes,” he spoke over her grunt of disbelief, “and also to protect Ben. I know he doesn’t think we care, but we are working to create a way out for him. Just like we got Han out, got Peppe out.”

The information made Rey pause. They were trying to save Kylo? After all he’d done, after he’d refused to see them, turned his back on his family?

Rey hadn’t noticed Han sitting back down next to her and pulling her into a comfortable side-hug. “Of course we’re trying to help Ben; he’s our boy. There’s nothing he could do that would make us turn him away,” Han shrugged. “And now we have you, and this little one,” Han very tentatively laid a hand on her belly, then just as quickly took it away.

“You’re family, too, Rey,” Luke added.

Rey felt a good cry coming on; it happened far too easily lately. The enormity of what they were saying was finally sinking in: all of Leia’s reassurances that she could stay as long as she wanted, and Kylo’s insistence that his family would keep her safe, and Han’s dedication to teaching her whatever she wanted to learn: they really meant it. They wanted her.

The baby chose that moment to start kicking the bloody hell out of her insides. She winced, then without thinking it through, grabbed Han’s hand. “Whoa! Do you feel that?” Han was grinning from ear to ear - not a smirk, no hint of irony – and his eyes were suspiciously wet, too. Luke wandered off to find something with which to mop up the tears, when Chewie stomped in from the garden, raking mud off his heavy boots on the mat by the door. He looked over at Han and Rey and rolled his eyes.

“Chewie wants to know what you’re blubbing about,” Luke said, handing them each a sheet of kitchen roll. “And he says he’s texting Ben to let him know that we made Rey cry.”

Eventually, Maz turned up for their session, and after that the men shooed her upstairs for a nap. Not because they were being controlling, she realised with a warm buzz, but because they wanted her to be well-rested and healthy.

And thus she awoke, beached on her back, some uncounted number of hours later to the last rays of late afternoon light beyond her window, and a large man in only his pants curled around her, fast asleep. Rey was running warm anyway with the baby pumping out heat, and the room was overwarm as Leia had cranked all the radiators up to tropical, and with an overgrown mass of mobster cuddled up to her, she was sweating. When she managed to untangle one leg from his grasp and kick off the duvet, he snorted and released her, turning away to hunker down under the remains of the covers. She marvelled once again at his ability to sleep through anything.

Rey eased herself up and made her way around the bed and to en suite, nearly tripping over his discarded trousers on her way. She washed her face – god, she’d been drooling she slept so soundly – and brushed her teeth absentmindedly. A little cooler and more comfortable, she settled into an armchair at the foot of the bed. She had a good view from here: of Kylo? Ben? She was finding it difficult to keep up the habit of calling him Kylo, but she wasn’t yet convinced that he was Ben. She could tell that Leia didn’t like it when Rey referred to him by the name Snoke called him. But he’d chosen it, and as far as Rey knew, he’d not renounced it.

A problem, really. That’s what he was.

Below her window, Rey caught the soft crunch of gravel on the drive: Leia must be home. The moment the sound carried to her, though, it seemed to reach Kylo. His eyes snapped open and he shot up, one hand reaching for where she had been sleeping and the other for a gun on the nightstand.

“I’m over here,” she called softly, and his startled-awake gaze found her across the room. “I think that’s your mother arriving home.”

He set the gun down with a muttered apology. Funny that he’d not woken to her making noise in the room, but a vehicle approaching outside had broken through his sleep. She could understand that; she’d had long years of subconsciously filtering night-time sounds for danger.

“You okay?” he asked with a yawn. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it back last night. I had a few things to take care of … business…” It wasn’t a lie, she felt. Whatever else she might think about him, she’d doubted he had swung by a lapdancing club or that he was seeing someone else. She wasn’t sure why she felt confident on that point, but there was something about the way that Kylo held her, looked at her, kissed her… he wasn’t with another woman. “Why are you all the way over there? Aren’t you cold?” He raised the duvet and beckoned her over. “Come back to bed, Rey.”

Despite herself, she slipped back beneath the covers, laying on her side and facing him, just looking him over. He worked his hand beneath her faced and stared back.

“Where exactly were you?”

“I was making sure that you’re safe,” he answered immediately. A non-answer.

“A lawyer’s answer.” She remembered a similar conversation from the night he’d stayed over in her awful bedsit. 

“You knew who I was when you followed me to that hotel,” he smirked.

She looked a him for a few loaded moments. “No, I didn’t. But I’ve got a better idea now.”

“I hope so, Rey,” he whispered, another warm hand coming up to stroke the hair away from her eyes. “I hope you know how much I care for you. How much I value your safety.” He had her face trapped between his palms now, not that she would have looked away. Not a chance. He brought his mouth right up against hers. “You’re so precious to me, Rey.” He was kissing her face all over, gently licking away the few escaped tears.

“Really?” She couldn’t help it. It sounded needy, and Rey knew that she couldn’t need anyone. It never worked out. “Am I?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I cannot believe that no one’s noticed before now. How perfect you are,” he sucked her top lip briefly into his mouth. “I can’t believe that I’m the first to notice how special you are.” He kissed her, deep and wonderfully slow, and Rey, fuck it all, she believed every word. She just desperately wanted to believe every word, and he was half on top of her, a hand straying from her face to sneak beneath her t-shirt, skimming her belly, stopping to stroke there before rising to cup a breast. She was stroking his face now, brushing his hair away from his brow, so that she could see him, eyes gently shut, lips wrapped around a nipple. The soft, sucking sensation pulsed straight through to her centre. He spent a long time kissing her chest and her breasts, a long time kissing her deeply and rutting against the thigh that curved towards him beneath the covers.

Rey looked out the winter at the early evening darkening past the trees, as he lifted her t-shirt over her head and reverently slipped her knickers down her legs. She watched the night come on as he kissed his way down her body, licking over her centre, spreading her legs to work two fingers inside. She panted, gripped his hair, but he turned his face to her inner thigh, pressed little kisses there, and worked his mouth back up across her belly and chest, back to her mouth. “I want to be inside you, Rey. I want to face to face, but,” he smiled against her lips, “it won’t be as deep. Is that okay, sweetheart?”

She lifted her top leg higher to give him room, and he hooked it over his hip so high that her heel rested above his arse. His height was a blessing, she thought, as he kept kissing her slow and deep, pressing into her open body at the same time. How he’d managed to curl around her belly, she wasn’t quite sure, and he was right, the thrusts were shallower than they usually went in for. The awkward reach must be killing his back. He pushed and pulled shallower but perfect, perfect, perfect, with one of his thumbs on her clit and the drag, drag, drag of him against the nerve endings just inside. He thrust over and over, slow and steady, just his thumb speeding up. She was gasping on his tongue. The pleasure built at the same lazy pace, but then crashed into her of a sudden. As she whimpered her orgasm into his mouth, he took her arse in one hand and tilted her just a little. She thought that he’d need to speed up, or change position, but no, he rocked into her mostly as he had been doing, for just a few minutes more. He never stopped kissing her as he came, too.

He slipped out of her body easily – he really hadn’t been very deep at all, she guessed – and when he finally pulled back from her mouth, too, he closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against her chin.

“Maybe,” she said, “Maybe you need me to notice how special you are. Ben.”

His eyes flew open and he raised his head to look into her eyes. They lay there until the sky turned completely dark outside their window, breathing through the aftermath of everything they’d revealed.


	25. The Women

She woke alone in the bed. She rolled to her side, swung her legs over the edge of Ben’s bed, and then slowly propped herself upright with one arm – every day, it was becoming more challenging just to achieve verticality. She’d made it all the way into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and turned on the water in the shower to warm up before she flipped up the lid of the toilet and sat down. Which is when she remembered.

They’d not used a condom last night.

There had been no discussion. Obviously, from her end, there was nothing for him to fear. And as quickly as she’d dismissed lapdancing clubs last night, now she wondered. Damn it. She was indeed an unfit mother – how could she have taken such a gamble with her baby’s health? With her own health? Fuck. She’d be having yet another uncomfortable conversation with Kylo about test results.

Kylo again. Huh. Funny how she kept flipping back and forth in her head about his name.

But she knew, she really did, that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Or their baby. If he’d gone without, if she’d felt safe enough to go without… maybe she did trust him. 

She’d never put that level of trust in anyone before, not in her memory.

The shower felt good, warmed her all the way through, and as she reached down for Ben’s shampoo, she noticed two new bottles on the little glass shelf opposite the shower door. Organic, botanical shampoo and conditioner, featuring an Amazonian flower that she couldn’t pronounce. She popped open the bottle and was immediately transported to a thickly floral greenhouse she’d been taken to on a school trip years ago. The scent was rich and lush and it seemed to catch onto the steam and diffuse into her senses. Had Ben bought these? Did he like the scent? Did just buy her something he thought she’d like, or did he want this to what he smelled when he buried his nose in her hair as he came? Had some other woman he’d had used this shampoo?

As she was twisting the water out of her in a towel, she heard his voice call from the bedroom: “Rey? I’ve left your tea on the bedside table. I just have a quick meeting downstairs, then I’ll be up with your toast!”

She wrapped the towel around herself and opened the bathroom door, to tell him not to bother, she’d be down for breakfast in five minutes, but the door to the corridor was already closing behind him. A hefty mug of milky tea and a glass of Han’s juice were on the table, one of the blasted vitamins beside it. She swallowed down the pill and juice and flopped onto the bed still wrapped in a damp towel, sipping her tea and watching the birds in the tree nearest the window. The familiar crunch of gravel had her peering round the edge of the open curtains. Below, she saw DI Tico and DCI Dameron emerge from an unmarked police car; Rose cast her clever eyes all across the front of the house, and Rey had to delve further into the dark curtains to avoid her gaze. Leia greeted them in the drive, shaking both their hands and chatting as she led them indoors.

The police, once again. Which meant that they were here for Kylo. Not Ben, mind. Kylo. Possibly in connection with wherever he’d been last night.

Rey had a lot of experience at sneaking around, at not being heard, let alone seen. She might be heftier at the moment, but she’d lost none of her stealth. She made it down the back staircase without a squeak and softly softly padded her way through the hallways toward a conference room with a large, mahogany table and three chandeliers swaying in the breeze from the open windows. Rey had been disbelieving that any family home would have a room so grand, or need one. She was grateful today for the unseasonably warm weather and the open windows, as the tinkling of those chandeliers hid any noise she might make in the hallways outside. From her spot in the shadows, beside the doorway, Han, Leia and Luke were walking around the table, looking over a dozen or so photographs spread across its surface. Their faces – when they circled into a position that Rey could see - showed uniform disgust. Ben lounged in a chair at one end of the table, still favouring his shoulder and leg, facing the windows with his legs stretched out before him, casting the occasional disinterested glance at the photos.

“I’ll need you to go over the timeline with us, Mr Ren,” Poe asked with an edge to his voice. “I’ve already taken a statement from Mr Skywalker and Mr Solo. Ms Organa had little to add.”

“After I left the court with my uncle, my assistant Finn picked me up. Uncle Luke saw me get into the car, as I am sure the statement you’ve already taken from him will show. Finn drove me to the office, where we met junior attorneys and interns called in specifically to help us get to grip with alleged corruption on the part of Mr Hux. We couldn’t wait until morning to begin the work, as we wanted to have answers for the authorities and for our clients as soon as possible. You’ll understand that I can’t have my law firm associated with any illegal activities.”

Poe raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just pushed a notebook towards Ben. “Can you write down the names of those at the firm who can confirm this? And a number for your assistant.” Ben took the pen that Rosa offered him and started to write. “When did you leave the office?”

Ben took them through his day: a stop by a florist on the way to Giulia’s, a long brunch and a few hours spent with ‘Aunt Giulia’, which Rey had not known. That she and Ben knew each other that well. Since childhood. He finished by telling them that he’d come home to Rey, slept with her all afternoon and all night, only coming downstairs to fetch a tray of food to take up for the two of them. He kept scratching out names and locations to verify his whereabouts. Poe didn’t push any of it.

Rose took the notebook back from Ben and looked over his list. “We’ll just need to speak with Ms Smith, then.”

Ben sat up and shifted his weight over his feet, calculating how to move without aggravating his wounds. Then he stood up. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission, Mr Ren,” Rose continued. “We will need to ask Ms Smith a few questions. A man died a gruesome death yesterday, and we need to get to the bottom of it.”

Yesterday? Wait, so was there another dead body? Or did they mean the man who Ben had shot dead in the garden?

“No, you will not ask her anything. She cannot be stressed…” he’s still talking, and Rey reckons that he’s working his way up to the unfortunate words ‘delicate condition’, as though she had waltzed in from the pages of a Jane Austen novel, when she decides to make her entrance.

“Oh!” she stopped short, taking everyone in as though surprised. “Sorry, I.. I was wondering where everyone had got to.” She’s also very good at lying about her sneaking and spying, and she uses no more words than strictly necessary. Don’t ramble. Don’t give away details. But she was looking at the table, of course, because everyone except Ben had been looking at the table, and she took a step closer…

Han and Ben all but threw themselves between her and photos; Luke was suddenly at her back, steering her away. When she looked back, Leia was arranging the photos into a neat pile and placing them face down on the table. The two detectives just looked on from the sidelines at this family trying to do everything in their power to keep her ignorant of whatever was in those photos.

“You must be starving, Rey,” Luke piped up. “I need to stay here with Ben, but maybe…”

“I can make you an omelette!” Han enthused. “Got some fresh dill from the garden. You’ll love it.” He walked her toward the door as spoke, an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t you all finish up here, and then Poe and Rose can meet Rey. After she’s had a little something to eat.” Han had her out the door and down the hall before she could even say ‘good morning’ to Leia.

They made it nearly to the kitchen before Rey could yank her arm out of Han’s grasp. “I’m not hungry!” she near-shouted, batting his hand away when he reached for her arm again. “And I don’t require babysitting. There are plenty of rooms in this ridiculous house – let me find one to be alone in.” At Han’s injured look – god, had Ben picked up all of his facial expressions from this man? – Rey softened a bit. “Please, Han. I just want to be by myself for a while.” He still looked hurt. “Rain cheque on the omelette?”

He gave her a tentative smile. “Anytime, kid.”

And for about 20 minutes, she had peace.

Rey had expected Poe to find her, to conduct the questioning, but instead it was Rose who tracked her to the music room; in a house with so many rooms, Rey has started to think of this one as hers. She’s never seen anyone in here other than when she and Maz were having sessions. Tucked up in an armchair, she gestured for Rose to choose one of the armchairs or the sofa next to her. Rose chose to sit as close as possible, and Rey found herself fiddling with the rim of her water glass as the detective flipped open her notebook and reached into her bag for an envelope.

The envelope.

Without a word, Rose emptied the photos onto the coffee table at Rey’s feet.

Hux was still recognisable, despite the blood caked thick around his open mouth and congealed on his throat and naked chest. Rey did not know what she’d looking at, even. He looked dead, for sure.

“His tongue was cut out. While he was still alive,” Rose tapped the photo at Hux’s chin, “which explains the heavy blood loss. In fact, it seems to be the first wound inflicted, then a little time passed before this...” Rose moved another photo to the top.

Nails. There are nails hammered through the man’s… oh my god. Hammered straight through to a plank of wood between his open thighs. Not one nail… multiple. “I mean, that bled, he was alive for all of it, even the sawing.” Rey turned away from the mutilated hands and feet in the next photos and pushed the file folder across the bench to Rose. “Actual cause of death was cardiac arrest. Whoever did this, they quite literally tortured him to death.”

Rey took a shaky drink of water and reached for a tissue that she proceeded to methodically shred into her lap. “Why are you showing me this?” she asked quietly.

Rose looked her over calmly. “You’re a tough one,” she said slowly. “Most people lose their lunch over this sort of stuff.” She slipped the file into an envelope and returned it to her bag. “I’m going to give you the unvarnished truth, Rey. Kylo Ren did this. Or Ben Solo, if you prefer. He shot the assassin that Hux sent after you, which you already know. Then he found Hux, had him delivered to an abandoned site in south London, and went there to exact revenge.” Rey breathed, shallow but steady, and waited for Rose to continue. “Copies of these photos have already made their way to every corner of Snoke’s global operation. No one is any doubt about who did this. Fortunately, though, Kylo has a watertight alibi and there is not a shred of physical evidence to put him anywhere near Elephant & Castle around midday yesterday.”

“He. Ben. He was in his bed, with me. Just like he said. I woke up and he was in bed with me. As far as I know, he was there all night. I’m a pretty light sleeper…”

Rose reached out to stop the beginnings of a ramble. “Don’t worry, Rey. It was all over by the time he came home to you. He was clever about it… the only thing you’ll ever have to swear to is already the absolute truth.”

Looking out the windows for a moment, Rey’s mind spun out in a dozen directions. “So why are you showing these to me?”

“Because you need to know who he is. What he does. The kind of people he’s involved with.” Rose looked at Rey’s belly. “Leia and Han and Luke – they’re optimistic – even Poe. Well, maybe less so Han. But they’re all going to work flat out to save him. I want you to consider that _maybe_ the man who did this,” she nodded to the photos, “can’t be saved. I know he’s good to you. And he must care a great deal for you because this is a big, big deal. Snoke never gave an order for Hux to be terminated – this was Kylo going out on his own, using his own connections, forcing loyalty to himself over Snoke. If Hux had killed you – I mean, no one knew who you were. It wouldn’t have mattered. You were nobody to Snoke and his gang. And now… you’re Helen of Troy. You’re the reason for a war.”

At the sound of footsteps in the hall, Rose carefully tucked away the photos and returned the envelope to her bag. Ben strode into the room in a temper, his eyes flitting between the two women, Poe hot on his heels and Leia a leisurely saunter behind.

“I thought I told you that Rey was not to be questioned,” he boomed.

Rose picked up her bag calmly and turned to Ben. “And I told you… you are not in charge of this investigation.” She looked back to Rey. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms Smith.” Rose walked out of the room past a fuming Ben. Poe was tucking his notebook into a pocket on his jacket.

“Yes, thank you both, I think we’ve completed our questioning here and we’ll be in touch.” Poe smiled lightly at Rey as he left, and Leia followed him out, closing the door behind her.

Alone now, Ben knelt by her armchair and took one of her hands. “Are you all right?” He seemed anxious. Rey supposed that torturing a man to death might do that to a person. “You really shouldn’t be exposed to any more stress.” He laid a hand on her belly, as if to check in with the baby. Her child seemed to have already developed a liking for his voice, because a few determined kicks batted against his broad palm.

His smile was so natural and beautiful. Rey berated herself for falling constantly into the trap of him; she’d just seen the brutal detail of Hux’s slow death not five minutes ago.

“You’re trying to keep me away from stressful situations,” Rey deadpanned.

“Yes, of course. I told you, Rey, that I’d protect you.” The side of his face was now pressed to her belly, and Rey cursed him this time for being so damned appealing.

“Perhaps you should consider a different line of work, then, because your business contacts seem far less concerned about my stress levels. I found looking at the hardware nailed through Hux’s genitals a bit stressful.”

He didn’t move to correct her, just lay still with his head tilted to the side and his ear pressed over the baby, his hand stroking over hers. “I have a watertight alibi for the hours around Hux’s death,” he answered, his eyes looking up into hers. “The threat he posed to you is eliminated.”

Neither of those statements was a lie, but they were so far from the truth that Rey resented the fact he’d even opened his mouth. Maybe Rose was wrong. Maybe he’d _ordered_ the killing - and the torture - but hadn’t done it _himself_. Was that any better? She realised that her gaze had zeroed in on his hands: these same hands that were touching her, that were so gentle and insistent and always, always so careful with her – yeah, it would be worse if these same hands had been holding the hammer and the saw. She imagined the hand over her belly covered in a white latex glove, dripping with blood, forcing Hux’s mouth open, drawing out his tongue…

“Then now would be a good time for me to move back into a place of my own.”

Ben’s hand on hers stopped its rhythmic stroking. “If you stayed here, you would have help. My parents, Chewie, Maz, Threepio…”

“But not you.”

Ben lifted his head and looked at her straight on. “Part of keeping you safe will require me to go back to work. Luke did an impressive job with the magistrates. I’m free to leave.”

Rey had been thinking about her own lovely little flat near the park. She didn’t think she’d be able to go back there, even once it had been scrubbed clean. “I’m free to leave, too,” she pointed out. “I can go right back to living my own life.”

“I just want you to consider staying here. My parents really want to help you raise this baby.”

“But not you.”

“Rey, it’s not that I don’t want to…”

“Did you do it?” She caught his face in both of her hands.

He didn’t break eye contact. Damn, he was a magnificent liar. “Did I…?”

“Did you torture and murder Hux? Did you saw off his fingers and toes? Did you cut out his tongue with carpentry tools?”

He didn’t answer for long moments and his face gave nothing away. “Are you recording this?”

“What?”

He asked slowly: “Did DI Tico, or anyone else, ask you to record this? Are you doing so?”

“Ben. No. Of course not.” She reckoned that he knew that she wouldn’t betray him. He would know that she was being honest with him.

He hesitated again. “You are far better off not knowing anything about this.”

“Stop deflecting. Yes or no.”

He threaded his fingers through hers and laid both their hands across her bump. “Yes.” He held on tighter as she tried to pull her hands away. “It secured my position and your safety. Her safety,” he patted her belly with their joined hands. “Or his. I told you Rey, I care very much about you. Both.”

He leaned up and pressed a kiss to her lips. Then a more hopeful second one when she didn’t push him away. But by the third she managed something unprecedented in their brief relationship: she pulled her hand from his and she blocked the next kiss.

“There’s a photo of you and your Dad at the Monaco Grand Prix right there on that chest of drawers,” she gestured across the room. “This is your home, Ben. I can’t stay here.”

“This little one has a right to this place, and so do you.”

Rey had gone round and round about this in her own head. She’d been in this house only a few days, and it had already started feeling like a comfortably safe haven. Dammit, she needed him to stop touching her so that she could clear her head.

“Rey!” They both whipped their heads round to the door, where Leia was beaming. “Look who’s popped by for lunch.”

Giulia came in with a big smile, which faltered a little at seeing Ben on his knees in front of Rey’s armchair. He looked much less than best pleased to see them. “Mia cara, it’s been weeks! let’s have a look at you.” Ben stood gingerly, his injured leg protesting, then used his right arm to help pull Rey to her feet.

Leia was all business. “Ben, the doctor’s in the kitchen with your father and Uncle Chewie. She’ll redress those wounds. Can you find Threepio on the way and tell him to bring lunch in here for us?”

Ben’s eyes stormed over, but he leaned into Rey and pressed a kiss near her ear. “We’ll continue this discussion later.” He seemed to reconsider making it sound quite so much like an order. “Okay?”

Her eyes tracked him as he strode from the room, and when she turned back to Leia and Giulia, they were motioning her over to the sofa so that they could sit on either side of her. Giulia chatted about the tire business and how her little Fiat 500 was holding up; Rey offered to come over and have a look while she could still fit between the bonnet and the engine.

“Leia, I’m thinking of moving out next week, so that I’ll have time to settle in somewhere new before D-Day,” Rey began. “I was wondering if you and Giulia could maybe help me find a flat? I don’t want to go back to the same place, and…”

“Rey,” Leia frowned. “You know that you don’t have to leave. Even if you’re trying to escape Ben. He won’t stay long… he wouldn’t have stayed this long if it weren’t for you.”

“He told me that he’s leaving,” Rey acknowledged. “He said he had to get back to his job.” Was her bottom lip actually wobbling? Oh, fuck’s sake. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t cried in years for a reason beyond hunger or pain before this stupid pregnancy. Rey tilted over into Leia, who immediately pulled Rey sideways into her lap. She could feel Leia stroking her hair and Giulia rubbing circles between her shoulders. “Our lovely Rey,” Leia sighed. “I’m so sorry for my son’s stubbornness and stupidity. I swear that he gets it from his father.”

“It’s true, cara,” Giulia chimed. “All of his bad traits are Han’s.”

Rey found herself smiling a little despite herself.

“You stay here until after the baby is born, deal? After that, if you want to move out, we’ll help you.” Leia was doing some magic thing with her fingers in Rey’s hair that seemed to be soothing her nascent headache. “You’ve only known that we’re even related to Ben for a few days. You need a little time to absorb it all.”

Threepio came in with an enormous tray of food at that point. “Mr Solo has made omelettes for lunch,” he announced, plating up the eggs and vegetables and potatoes. By the time Threepio reappeared half an hour later to take away the plates and cutlery, Rey was feeling much better.

“I just wanted to let you know how life might change for you, if you want it to, of course,” Leia added quickly. “Han and I have already contacted our financial advisor about setting up a trust fund for the baby…”

Rey was pretty sure that Leia was still talking, but everything after ‘trust fund’ was white noise. She felt Giulia’s hand close around hers. “Leia, slow down,” she laughed nervously. “I think Rey’s a bit shocked with all of this.”

“Oh, god, I shouldn’t have whipped out the school brochures so soon. I’m sorry, love.”

Rey looked down at the coffee table. Where photos of Hux’s mangled corpse had been less than an hour ago, now sat numerous shiny prospectus from expensive private schools. Giulia was shaking her head at her friend. “Leia, I know that you’re a planner, but I doubt that Rey has stopped to consider the finer points of the child’s schooling.”

There was, however, no stopping Leia once she got going. When Rey at last pleaded exhaustion, Leia had actually phoned a contractor to come by and quote for work to turn part of the house into a self-contained flat for Rey and the baby. As she was standing, overwhelmed by everything she’d learned today, Giulia caught her arm.

“Rey, I know you’ve had a lot thrown at you today. This week. But I have one more log to add to that fire. Ben… he wants out, Rey. He wants to do what his father and what my Peppe managed… to leave that life behind. Just keep a little faith in him, okay?”

Rey nodded, and she gave Giulia a hug, pointedly without making any promises.

She walked out the front door and across the gravel drive, and she’d just about made the edge of a small wood when Ben caught up with her.

“I’m trying for a little alone time,” she sighed as he fell into step with her.

“Would you mind if I came along for it?” he asked, his hand catching hers. “Finn dropped off the Jag and I’m going for a drive. Come with? You must be getting cabin fever.”

Rey glanced back at the enormous house set in vast grounds. “This is no cabin, Ben. And it’s not really alone time if you’re along for it.”

“Still,” he pulled her gently toward his car. “I think it would do us both good to get away for a few hours.” He pulled open the passenger door and tugged her into his chest for a warm hug before pressing a kiss to her hair. She thought for the first time how oddly affectionate he was, how he touched her and waited on her. It never occurred to her to hug people, or take their hands. God, was she going to starve her baby of physical affection, because she had been starved of it herself?

Ben seemed to have realised that her mind had gone elsewhere, and he was just ploughing ahead with strapping her into the seat. He slipped into the driver’s side and started the engine. The last time she’d seen him in this car, she’d been standing on the pavement near the Thames, in a breezy party dress and her best shoes and Superdrug lipstick, and he’d been sharp as a blade in his suit and his height and his cufflinks.

He looked over at her and grinned, boyish and fun. “You ready to go, beautiful?”

She had nothing on her – no handbag, no purse, not even a phone, which she’d left charging in the bedroom this morning. She was wearing a pair of wellies that she'd found by the front door, as she'd snuck downstairs all those hours ago in just her socks. 

She gripped his hand over the gear stick. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”


	26. The Calm

Ben waited for the expresso he’d ordered to be safely in his grip before he snapped. “Don’t do that again,” Ben spoke sharply to the woman who had handed him the cup and a packet of sugar. He dropped the sugar on the low table next to him and took a sip. Not hot enough.

“Don’t do what?” the sales assistant blinked. She was perhaps his age, a naturally stunning redhead in a designer outfit that looked taped on, whose tits had all but tumbled into his mouth on this last pass. It was not that she was overly made up or strapped into fuck-me shoes – her modest suede, knee-high boots complemented the dress stylishly - but she’d still managed to behave like they were in one of Snoke’s clubs and she was trying to entice him into a private room.

“The flirting, the unnecessary bending over, the breasts in my face,” he explained, irritated. “That’s the mother of my child in that dressing room. Your behaviour is insulting to both her and to me.”

The woman looked shocked. “I’m sure I didn’t mean to offend,” she started.

“You meant to arrange a hook-up, is what you meant. While I’m shopping for maternity clothes with my partner.” He was well fecked off with her, and the angrier he became about it, the more the gunshot wound on his arm throbbed.

“I did not!” The assistant had been touching him and giggling for the last half an hour as Rey and his personal shopper picked out some warm, casual clothes. Rey had given her a concerned side-eye only once, but he’d watched her delicate self-confidence plummet into her wellies.

“Tamara, could you head over to luggage and handbags, please? There’s a customer waiting there for a shopper.” The redhead blinked blankly and walked away, hips swinging, while Isabelle watched her with a professional coolness. Ben nodded his thanks to the Selfridges personal shopper that he’d used for years. “My apologies, Mr Ren.” He shrugged, and she turned back to the door of the dressing room. “Rey, how’s that one?” she called in a warm voice. “It’ll work great with the Doc Martins you liked.”

The dress, Ben glimpsed, was a soft oatmeal colour, warm and clingy around her arms, showed off plenty of her cleavage and came down to about mid-thigh, hugging her belly on the way down. Thick black leggings and a pair of DMs with a woolly lining were dangling from Isabelle’s fingers as she waited for Rey to decide.

“You look beautiful,” he assured her with a small smile. “Are you comfortable in it? I like the boots – you look all soft and nature-goddess, but still ready to kick the shit out of anyone who crosses you.”

Rey laughed, the first time since he’d announced that a bit of maternity clothing was probably in order for the last couple months of her pregnancy, and that he had called in an emergency appointment with Isabelle. “That’s the look I was going for,” she smiled back, all faux-toughness.

Isabelle interrupted. “Why don’t you pop these on, then?” She handed over the boots and leggings. “I’ll snip out the tags and you can wear it if you’d like?” Even Rey picked up on the subtle hint that his school jumper over Primark leggings and muddy wellies was perhaps not the best of all possible outfits. “Great, would you like to hand me your clothes? I can pop them in a bag with the rest of the purchases.” Rey shifted uncomfortably and handed over her old things to Isabelle. “We’ll meet you just over there, ok? You be sure to sit down when you lace up those boots,” she warned. “I fell onto my butt when I was pregnant with my second, while trying to put on my own knickers!” She laughed broadly. “Had a bruise for a week. Does a number on your centre of gravity, these last few weeks.”

Rey seemed to relax, and she promised not to injure herself in the dressing room. Ben followed Isabelle to the half a dozen bright yellow Selfridges bags filled with jeans and t-shirts and jumpers and bras and knickers. He had the coat that Rey had chosen over his arm.

“I’ll get those trainers that she chose sent up and added to your purchases,” Isabelle said crisply. “I’ve made a good guess at her post-pregnancy size, and I’ll have some sleepwear sent over that will be comfortable for her right after the birth. She’ll want tops that make it easier to breastfeed, if she decides to go that way.” Ben felt a little overwhelmed with that; he’d never before thought about his personal shopper’s maternal experience as a plus, but it had been invaluable today. She’d managed to completely outfit Rey in just under an hour. “I can do the same with nursing bras: just let me know at the time. I don’t want to suggest anything that she might interpret as pressure or judgment.”

“I hadn’t considered any of this…” he stumbled.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said, all business. “I’ll bill your account?”

He agreed, then added: “Could you stay in touch with Rey, please? Anything that she needs or wants, just have it delivered to the address that I gave you, and always, always bill my account. You don’t need to approve her purchases with me. Make sure that you stress that to her whenever you call.”

Isabelle looked up, assessing him. “Of course, Mr Ren. Even women who hate shopping like picking out clothes for their children. I’m sure that once Rey gets used to me, she’ll find using our service as natural as you do.” Ben had his doubts.

Rey emerged at that point, in that dress did more favours for her cleavage than Ben had noticed at first glance. Now he was doomed to spend the rest of the evening salivating over her tits, he sighed, and that’s not what this little outing had been about. She was bouncing up and down on her tiptoes to test out her new boots, and her chest was moving along with the rest of her. He cleared his head with a shake and held open her coat, slipped her arms in.

“Thank you, Isabelle,” Rey grinned. “These boots are fun! Springy.”

Ben pulled her into him and kissed the edge of her adorable smile; he couldn’t wait to see the impression the next stop made. “C’mon, you must be hungry.”

“Wait! What about the shopping?”

“Huh?” He glanced back over his shoulder at Isabelle tagging their purchases. “Oh, it’ll be delivered for us – you’ll have it when we get home tonight.”

“Christ on a bike. So rich people don’t even carry their own shopping?” She hadn’t stopped giving the other shoppers a sort of evil stare since they entered the store, as though she thoroughly resented everyone around them.

“I don’t want to drag it all down to the parking garage,” he explained.

“Yeah, that would be a real hardship,” she agreed. “Best make some poor bastard drive it all the way out of London for us.”

“Exactly,” he responded, “I don’t want it to disrupt the flow of the evening.”

“There’s a flow to the evening?”

He stood on the stair before her on the escalator, his hands beneath her coat and settled on her hips. He leaned down and kissed her belly. “I can tell that the baby is hungry.” They walked around to the next section of the escalator, passing a display of glittering, astronomically-priced gowns, which Rey treated to a disparaging scowl. “So our next stop will address that.”

“Restaurant?” she asked cautiously. He could tell that she was nervous, probably imagining something French and incomprehensible and intimidating. As if he would do that to her.

He smiled and led her around a display of Japanese stationary. “Better…” He positioned himself behind her and covered her eyes with his hands, edging her carefully to an open entranceway inside the store. “Are you ready?” he whispered in her ear. He could feel the edges of her grin beneath his fingers, then snatched his hands away. “Foodhall!”

Rey fake-swooned into his arms, then laughed. “Oh my god, this is… wait, are those crepes?” Ben had expected her to want to tour the options, wander in amazement through stall after stall of artistically-presented specialities from all over the world, but he was dead wrong. She dove straight into counter after counter, starting with a Nutella crepe with fresh berries – she’d never had Nutella – then on to avocado sushi rolls and pickled ginger (she directed him to buy a jar of the ginger), then a samosa, then Ben convinced her to share a pad thai, which she drenched in lemon and mostly ate herself.

“Remind me not to share dishes with you – I’d starve,” he said, pouring her another glass of elderflower cordial as she polished off the Chinese pork bun he’d bought for himself.

“You knocked me up,” she said around a mouthful, “and now you’re complaining about feeding your own baby.”

He managed to hold her hand briefly as she chewed, then reached over to pat her bump reassuringly and leaned in to speak to the baby. “Don’t worry, little one, Daddy’s not going to let you starve.” He laughed lightly, sitting up and casting his eyes around. There must be macaroons, and she can’t possibly have had them before. He spotted the counter across the hall, and Ben started to stand up to get her a selection of them. But when he turned back to her, she was staring at him, motionless. “Hey, you all right?” Her eyes were filling up, and he pulled his chair closer and sat back down. “What’s wrong? Rey?”

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she forced a smile. She didn’t look upset, and he knew that she both cried easily and hated doing so or having attention called to it. Hormones, perhaps. “What were you looking for?”

He brightened again and leaned in to kiss her, letting one of his hands trail through her loose hair. “Wait here, I’ll be right back. You’ll love this,” he promised. As he walked toward the patisserie counter, he could have sworn that he heard a whispered, “I already do.”

…

Dress number 3, Rey found, was very forgiving. Apparently the wool came from organically-fed, college-educated alpacas in a classy Peruvian neighbourhood, or some such shite, to justify the price tag she’d glimpsed before Ben had redirected her gaze. Unlike the two she already owned, this dress was soft as a whisper – and likely not as flammable. And even after eating half of the Selfridges foodhall to the point that her stomach was probably taking up more room than her womb, it still made her middle look sexy.

And the boots were fun.

Ben was fun.

Right now, he was unsticking his spotless Italian shoes from the grimy floor of a comedy club, heedlessly causing others in the packed theatre to part like the waters of the Red Sea as he made his way to their seats. She watched him carry their drinks from the crowded bar to where she waited in one of the seats he’d managed to procure, at very last minute, just before the show was due to begin. On their wander through Leicester Square, Rey had spotted the name of a comedian that she’d heard on the radio and mentioned that she’d found him hilarious. Next thing she knew, Ben was ‘having a word’ with a man at the ticket window about the sold-out show. And here they were.

He handed her a soda with lime and held up his beer for inspection. “Plastic cups,” he snorted, “guess they don’t want anyone chucking glass at the acts.”

Rey curled her arm through his when he settled into his seat, his own hand resting on her thigh.

“Thank you for this,” she smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, too busy staring down the top of her dress again, as he’d been doing on and off all evening. She hadn’t thought that this neckline was particularly revealing, but Ben seemed to find it irresistible. “Oi. My eyes are up here, mate.”

Ben leaned into her, his face ever closer to her breasts, then darted forward and licked just above where the fabric met her skin, dipping down to find the lacy edge of her new bra. He pulled back just as quickly.

“Ben!” she laughed, startled, “Jesus. You can’t do that in public.”

“Can. Did.” He was looking up into her eyes now. “Wanted to see how big your pretty eyes would get if you were surprised.”

She squeezed his arm and he flinched. “Dammit, Ben, I’m sorry,” she gushed, moving her grip away from his stitches. “You okay?”

“Yes, Rey, I’m fine, really.” He kissed her lips, a perfectly acceptable-in-public sort of kiss.

The house lights flickered on and off, and everyone moved to their seats. The comedian started in straight away with a joke that had Ben guffawing, and Rey watched him, transfixed. Every so often she would catch him grinning down at her to share the hilarity. She grinned back, but for the rest of the show, Rey laughed only because Ben did. She didn’t hear much of the show, but watching Ben Solo laugh was about the most revelatory experience she’d had with him. And he’d given her orgasms.

And fed her macaroons.

And taken her swimming under winter moonlight.

And told her that she was beautiful and important.

When intermission came, Ben tilted his face to hers with a sunny, open smile on his face and asked if she’d like a drink. “I’d like to get out of here, if you don’t…”

“Let me get our coats,” he squeezed her hand. She kept her fingers linked through his as they made their way through the crowd to the cloakroom. She noticed that he’d started to favour his injured leg a bit. “Did you enjoy the set?”

He fished out the token for their coats and handed it to an attendant. “Loved it, that was a great suggestion,” he leaned down for quick kiss.

The girl handing back their coats smiled at them. “When are you due?” she asked conversationally, handing over Rey’s new winter coat.

“Ten weeks,” Ben answered before Rey could, helping her into her coat.

“Your first?” He nodded, a proud smile on his face as he pulled Rey closer. “How exciting! Well, congratulations. Hope you’re keeping well,” she directed at Rey, then turned to help someone else.

The temperature had dropped again by the time they left the venue, and Ben produced a pair of warm gloves from his jacket pocket. He stopped beneath a streetlamp at the edge of Chinatown and fitted them onto her hands. “You want an Uber back to Oxford Street, or walk?”

“Your leg okay to walk?” He shrugged it off. “Let’s walk, then.”

On the way back, they stopped into a quiet pub in the backstreets of Soho, Ben ordered himself a half and was about to order Rey a sparkling water with lime, when the bartender tapped the space in front of Rey. “Hey, miss!” he smiled. She couldn’t remember people ever smiling at her this much before. A few weeks ago, she’d been trudging up Holloway in charity shop boots, carrying her few groceries in a backpack she’d been using since primary school, and she’d felt completely invisible. “Got a cocktail I made up for me wife when she was expecting. Cranberry and orange and soda, with a twist of lime,” he went on. “Wanna try it?”

Rey and her ‘cocktail’ followed Ben to a table at the back of the pub. He slid right up close on the banquet seat and held her hand, as though he expected her to make a break for it if he didn’t keep hold of her. I wouldn’t get very far at this point, she thought, with her belly out past her toes.

“So, have you thought about names?”

Rey nearly choked on her drink. “Um,” she sniffed to keep the cranberry and soda from dribbling out her nose. “I haven’t. No.” She took the tissue Ben handed her and blew her nose. “I also haven’t considered which prestigious school he or she should attend. Do I want expensive and traditional, or do I want expensive and liberal?”

“Huh?”

“Your mum today. She was talking about the baby’s trust fund and which schools I might consider.” Rey had unthinkingly shredded one of her cocktail umbrellas and was snapping the sticks into tiny shards.

Ben sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”

“I don’t want you shouting at her. I can deal with this myself.”

“I’m not going to shout. I said that I wouldn’t do that anymore, and I meant it. And you need to know what a big change that will be for me and my parents – no shouting,” he explained ruefully. “They’re my parents, and I will run interference for you.” He took her hands. “However… I think, Rey, that you should accept that there will be a trust fund. There will be money for schooling if you choose to take it. I would ask, and I know that it’s your choice, but I would ask… based on my own experience… that you do not choose a boarding school.” He was looking down at their joined hands in his lap.

Rey bit her lip and waited patiently until he met her eyes. She tried to nod solemnly, as though she was taking his painful experience into account, but the longer she held his gaze, the more her repressed laughter broke through. Finally, she collapsed into the quilted leather of the banquet and howled with laughter.

“_Boarding school_?” she gasped through her fit of giggles. “In what world… are you serious?… you are concerned that I might send my child to a bloody … _boarding school_? Seriously?” She wiped her eyes on the sleeves of her new dress, then fought off another round of laughter. “What planet are you on? The lot of you! Down here on planet normality, I will be walking my child to whichever school is down the road, wearing his or her uniform shirt bought in a plastic 3-pack at Asda. If I’m lucky, I’ll be in a position to afford an apartment near a highly-rated primary.” She took a sip of her cocktail to compose herself. “And that’s a good dream, by the way. Holding my baby’s hand on the way to reception class, sitting them down in the evenings and doing the homework before tea. I’m not considering Eton, for chrissake.”

Ben shifted in his seat so that he slouched down, his long legs stretched under the table; it moved him a little away from her body and gave her a better perspective on his reaction. “Rey,” he spoke seriously, “even you, with all of your distrust, must be convinced by now that poverty is behind you. Right?” He gave a beat to respond, but she wanted to hear him talk. “You told me before that you didn’t trust monthly payments because – as you put it – I would lose interest and leave you high and dry. So… I’ll buy you a flat or a house; you choose where. It will be in your name, no ties to me or anyone else. Just yours. I’ll buy it outright, no mortgage.”

Rey had expected that he’d try to give her money; and, yeah, she had somewhat come round to the idea that Ben and/or his family were not going to let her scrimp for the weekly shop ever again. But it was still a very new idea, and hearing that offer out loud hit her right in the solar plexus.

Ben kept watching her. “I’m pretty sure that my Dad has already picked out a car for you, too, for when you’ve passed that test. He was talking about Isofix systems.” Rey inhaled and exhaled slowly. “And my mother will almost certainly be offering you the cost of private education if you want to go that way. But I promise, I will remind her that where our child goes to school is entirely your decision.” He gifted her a lopsided smile. “I rather like the idea of the state school down the road…” he paused, “as long as it’s a good one. I trust you to make the right choice when the time comes.”

Rey stared into the space between them, overwhelmed by how her life had pingponged through extremes over the last few months. “What about you?” she asked into their silence.

Ben gave a little shake of his head. “Me? What do you mean… what about me?”

“Where are you going to be when I have this new home and this new car and this new baby?”

And here Ben, who had maintained eye contact throughout that conversation, dropped his gaze to the pub floor. “My job hasn’t changed, Rey. I don’t know… how much of your life I’ll be able to share.”

Wow. He was leaving her. And she was an absolute idiot to have imagined any other outcome. He’d told her so, after all, right from the very beginning… he didn’t contact her after their first night together, then later he told her explicitly that they couldn’t be together. This sinking, sick feeling now… well, she should have known better. She should have listened to him when he told her who he was. He wanted sex, maybe some companionship or understanding, but ultimately… he didn’t want her.

“Okay. Ummm. Yeah, okay,” she stood up, gathered up her coat from the seat beside her. “I’d like to get back to the house now.”

“Rey, I’m so sorry. I wish this was different. That we could…”

“Uh-huh.” She would not cry. Hormones or no hormones, Rey had a whole lifetime’s experience with abandonment. And, hey, at least this time she’d be abandoned in her own paid-in-full house. She quickly remembered her formula for leaving each foster home… focus on the next steps, think about what’s ahead and not what’s left behind. Be practical. Be prepared. She pulled her coat on and started buttoning with sure fingers. “I’m really tired, Ben. We should head back.”

He didn’t attempt any more conversation as he followed her silently out the door of the pub and down the emptying streets of Soho, then drove her back to his parents’ house in deafening silence. After he threw the car into park on the gravel drive of their extravagant home, Ben reached for her hand.

“Rey. I don’t want you to think that I don’t want this.” Even without turning to face him, she should see his sad, defeated face from the corner of her eye. Maybe he did care about her, but ultimately he did not care enough. 

Rey hefted herself out of the car and made her way to the guest bedroom she’d been assigned when she first arrived, gently shutting the door on Ben when he followed her down the hallway. She had waited 19 years to hear someone say that they loved her. She could wait another couple, when her baby would be able to say it. And mean it.


	27. The House

Han knew – because Leia had told him – that Rey was getting ready to leave. He wished he could convince her to stay, let him teach her a bit more about high-end sports cars, and he admitted that he’d like keeping her under his roof. Leia had told him straight up to stop being so paternalistic: “She’s a young woman who needs to forge her own path.” Han didn’t mean to be paternalistic, he just, for once, wanted to be allowed to be paternal. She was a great girl, with an easy manner and a good head on her shoulders, and Han liked having her around.

It wasn’t that Han didn’t love his son. Because he did. Very much.

But Rey had called out to him in a visceral way, from the moment he met her that night at Giulia’s house. She’d looked heartbreaking, a twig of a girl with a belly full of his grandchild, and Han thought for a moment that maybe his son had finally done something truly unforgivable. Han could shrug off the mob crimes, the unethical legal dealings; he’d been there himself at one point in his life, and he had no business criticising his son for making some of the same questionable decisions that he had. However, this girl. Rey needed a Dad, she needed someone to look out for her, to help her in the unselfish and unconditional way that parents supported their children. She’d grown up like he had – no parents to look out for her, always a little uncertain and a lot alone. Han _got_ Rey, before she’d even finished introducing herself, he knew exactly what she needed from him and from Leia.

He also knew what she needed from Ben.

So when Ben had swept her into the car earlier today and driven her into town, Han had let himself hope that Rey would prove to be his son’s salvation from Snoke. It wasn’t fair to put that on her, but still, he’d hoped. When they returned, and Rey had locked herself in the guest room and Ben outside of it, Han had crept down to the kitchen. And waited.

Ben had gathered up a whiskey bottle and a glass before he noticed his old man at the table.

“Your arm still hurting?” Han grunted.

Ben brought a hand to his left arm. “Not so much, no.”

“Good,” Han nodded and took a sip of the coffee he’d been nursing, waiting for Ben to come downstairs. “Rey kick you out of bed?”

Ben’s head shot up, and he glared across the table at his father.

“Son, I think you need to remove your head from your arse.”

“Old man, I am not taking relationship advice from you.” 

“I told you that I will not stand by and watch you hurt that girl. Twenty years old, son, she’s just out of school, for fuck’s sake. She has no previous relationship experience.” Han rubbed at his forehead with the palm of one hand. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay; I want you to turn evidence against Snoke and get out of that whole shithole of a business…” He waved a finger at Ben. “But you’re taking her out on a date and running a war at the same time. You’ve been on the phone with Snoke about six times a day, every day.”

Ben sneered. “I’m working, Dad. Most parents want that for their children.”

Han waved a dismissive hand behind him and stood; he turned his back to Ben, wishing for the thousandth time that they could have a conversation that did not devolve in bitterness. “I know what you’re working at, son. And it’s nothing that fits with that girl and that baby. You need to make a sodding decision. The right one would be great, but a decision either way, I’ll take.”

Ben sat completely still, barely breathing, looking down at the whiskey left in his glass. Han felt himself holding his breath, too. Finally Ben pushed himself to his feet, glass in hand, and quietly said, “I’ll move back to my flat tomorrow.” And he trudged upstairs to his room, leaving Han alone in the kitchen to wonder once again how you save someone who does not want to be saved.

…

Finn, somehow, became the silver lining gained from the cloud of Ben’s decision to move back to his flat in a sleek block near Tower Bridge. As Ben moved out of her day-to-day life, Finn moved in. She’d wanted to make friends in London, and Finn quickly and effortlessly became a friend.

For nearly two weeks, Finn sat next to Rey and pored over estate agent listings, calculating the distance to good primaries and secondaries, visiting the local parks and comparing playground equipment, researching crime statistics and noting down her likes and dislikes. She asked for a two bedroom flat perhaps in Crouch End, but Finn didn’t take her to anything like it. She’d said she liked the idea of a garden – who didn’t like the idea of a garden? – and with that preference expressed, he went to work. Sure, he explained, you can find flats with gardens, but wouldn’t she rather have more privacy? And on it went.

Before he moved back to his own flat, Ben had insisted that the house or flat she chose was entirely down to her, but he had made suggestions about areas he favoured. Suggestions that Finn seemed to take as scripture, since every place he showed her just happened to sit in one of Ben’s preferred neighbourhoods. Finn had driven her to a chic, modern flat in Pimlico with a garden-balcony and a view of the Thames; a mews house in Chelsea; a sweet 1920s house in Muswell Hill… but none had raised more than a sad smile from Rey and an accepting, “It’s very nice.” Finally, after striking out with a Victorian semi-detached in Hampstead, Finn walked her to a little café and sat her down next to a picture window with a warm mug of cocoa. He insisted on the barista adding pink and white marshmallow and heaps of cream.

“So, are we going to talk about it?” he asked. “I know you’ve only known me for a short time…”

Finn didn’t need to convince her that he wanted to help. They’d talked long into the night in the music room at Han and Leia’s house, easily and openly, about their childhoods. Finn had also grown up in foster homes from the age of ten, then joined the military at 18, leaving after the minimum required time was up. Rey immediately trusted him, his warm dark eyes and quick smile, his desire to help her seemed genuine and kind, not just a task he had been assigned by his boss.

“I’ve ‘talked about it’ plenty – I saw Maz this morning,” Rey grumped.

“Yeah, well, Maz is your therapist and not your friend,” he pointed out. “And as your friend, I can see that you’re pining.”

“Am not pining,” she said, stuffing a spoonful of whipped cream into her mouth. “See?” She smiled broadly. Fakely.

“He really cares about you, Rey,” Finn began.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, he just wants to protect me, doesn’t want me getting hurt, blah blah blah. He told me himself. He doesn’t need you doing his PR.”

Finn stirred his own coffee thoughtfully. “I just feel like nothing that I show you is going to work, not so long as you’re so sad.”

“Not sad either.” A slightly bigger, faker smile. “See?”

“Right, that was convincing,” he raised an eyebrow. “You refusing to choose a place is just self-sabotage.”

“Ooooo. Who needs Maz when I can get this level of analysis from my baby-Daddy’s personal assistant?” She flicked some of the cream at him. “Maybe you’re just a shit estate agent.”

“Hey! I found you that other flat, didn’t…” Finn snapped his mouth shut, his eyes wide.

Rey narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean, you found me that other flat. Spill, Finn.”

So Finn had explained about the flat, and the furniture, and the renovation to the bathroom, and the rent that was three times what she had paid. The whole incident had ended with her sobbing into her marshmallows, overcome by all that Ben and Finn had done for her.

“So… if I show you another place tomorrow, will you promise to look at it with an open mind? Because I’ve been saving this one… I didn’t want to waste it on you while you were deep in this funk.”

Rey had agreed, and now here she was in the passenger seat as Finn’s black Lexus skimmed along the edge of Primrose Hill park – Rey could see down the slope across the London Zoo at the top of Regent’s Park. He pulled to a stop on a wide, leafy residential street near the park. And there it was: with only two floors, it was squatter than its neighbours, a pretty little Regency oddity, with broad, proud windows and a handsome brown brick front. The houses here, unusually for the neighbourhood, were set back from the street far enough to accommodate a small drive. A cherry tree with its new leaves peeping through sat to the side of the drive, revelling in the late winter sun.

“Finn,” Rey breathed, grabbing his hand. “Finn, it’s… it’s…”

“Yup,” he laughed. “I’ve checked it out. And it’s way better inside.”

“I meant,” she recovered, “that this is ridiculous. It’s way beyond my budget.”

Finn paused and gave her a funny look. “Umm. Rey. You don’t have a budget. That is, no upper limit has been mentioned to me. In fact, Kylo forwarded this house to me. I think Giulia Amata and his mother found it.” He waited for her to take that information in. “So, do you, umm, do you want to see it?”

An estate agent was standing by the navy blue front door, a tangle of keys in his hand. He caught sight of Finn’s fingers clutched in Rey’s and smiled, coming to entirely to wrong conclusion about them.

“I need to discuss a few things with John here,” he tilted his head at the estate agent, “Why don’t you have a nose around? Be sure to check out the garden!” Finn grinned at her.

Rey shook her head and tried to focus, but she had no idea what questions to ask. The place was predictably beautiful: high ceilings, tall windows, bright views of leafy loveliness from every room. There were appliances built into the kitchen that Rey didn’t even recognise. The estate agent – John – explained that the one below the oven was a warming drawer. Finn and Rey shared a bewildered look and then burst into simultaneous laughter.

Finishing her third tour of the two-story house, Rey found Finn sitting at a creaky wooden table in the garden, accepting stacks of paperwork from John.

“Ms Smith!” John called her over. “Great news. If you want this place, we can have it modified to your specifications by Wednesday week.”

“My specifications?” Rey asked, glancing at Finn. She had no idea what more could be done to make this stupidly perfect house more stupidly perfect. She spied Finn de-speakering the call he was on; a conference had been underway in her absence. “What specifications have I decreed, Finn?”

“Well… just…” Finn juggled the mobile to his ear and tried to placate the other party. “Rey, just a few adjustments for security… a gate and fence across the drive, cameras, alarms, changing and installing locks… nothing out of the ordinary.” John snorted, suggesting that at least some of the requests had been out of the ordinary. “I have the property lawyer on the line now, just making a last few queries.” He stood and wandered to the back of the garden, speaking urgently into the phone.

John looked bemused, and he motioned for her to sit down and make herself comfortable. “What do you think, Ms Smith? Can you see yourself living here?”

Honestly, no, Rey could not see herself living here. But she wanted to. She wanted to see it. “I love it,” Rey smiled instead. “And if I could move in so quickly…”

“Finn!” Rey jumped near a mile at the sound of Ben’s voice booming through the house. His stomping footsteps grew louder as he strode out of the double French doors into the garden. His black suit stole the light and a bright blue tie reflected it back. “There you are!” Ben made the table in three long strides and stopped behind Rey, leaning over her to plant a kiss on Rey’s cheek and plucking her hand from her lap and grasping it between both of his. “What do you think? Do you like it? Finn texted earlier to say that you seemed keen.”

Finn hung up his call and joined them, handing one of the papers from his stack to Ben. He glanced down and looked at John. “This the final with all the amendments?” John nodded, his good-natured bemusement replaced with a trace of concern, and Ben ordered: “Okay, both of you leave.” Ben motioned for Finn to hand over the whole stack of papers, and John jumped up to move with an urgency Rey hadn’t expected. “The key, please.” Ben held out an impatient hand to John.

John fumbled the Yale lock key from his bunch and dropped it in Ben’s waiting palm. “Lovely to meet you, Ms Smith. Please call me if you have any questions at all,” he went to hand Rey his card, but stopped short at what could only be described as a guttural huffing from Ben. John snatched his hand back as though Ben might bite, and a quick look at his face confirmed that he just might. “You can… umm… get in touch with me through Finn. Right. Okay.” And John backed away, into the house and out of the front door.

“Did we need to scare that pudding of an estate agent?” Rey asked, as Ben slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close. “He looked terrified.”

Ben gave her a secretive smile: “People are supposed to be scared of me, Rey. That’s the whole point of me.” He kissed her frown, licked gently at her lips to see if he could coax her out of her disapproval. “You can’t fault me for not wanting some other man getting your phone number.” Ben helped her up from the garden chair and walked back into the house with her. “So is this it? Is this your house?”

Rey had never envisioned a dream house, not in specific, architectural terms. She had dreamed of being in a safe place, but that always meant being alone and not being at risk of losing the roof over her head. A place where she could finally, definitively unpack. “Yes,” she said, simply.

Ben stopped in the middle of the sitting room that gave onto the garden, and he wrapped his long arms around her. “This will be your house, Rey. All yours. I hope you’ll be happy here.” He nudged her nose up with his own, prompting her until she tilted her face to him. “And I hope that maybe you’ll let me stay here, sometimes. But it’s your choice.” He kissed her once, exploring to see what she’d give him, then more deeply when she didn’t object. He tasted just perfect, holding her to his chest, their baby safe between them, in a house that smelled like sunshine even in grotty February.

Rey rested her head on his chest, and his fingers dug automatically into her neck and shoulders, kneading the tension from her, and she let her mind wander into dangerous territory. Ben staying with her, Ben cooking in that kitchen, Ben carrying the baby upstairs to bed at night, Ben cuddling up with her under a blanket in that garden.

But that’s not what he was suggesting. He wanted to drop in every so often. He’d want sex. He’d want to play with the baby. He’d want to make sure that no other man ever got close enough to slip her a phone number, to convince her to hire a sitter for the night, to buy her a beer down the pub, to kiss her. 

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up all the paperwork for you to sign,” he continued, still massaging her shoulders.

Lawyers, Rey supposed, worked for the people who paid them, just like everyone else did. And she may not have a lot of money, but Rey had spent enough time putting money into jars and calculating expenses that she understood that most of her expenses – lodging, food, transportation – were being taken care of right now. She had the money that Giovanni paid into her account each month, and she could use it to hire someone who represented her interests and hers alone.

“I’ll need John’s number so that I can put my attorney in touch with him,” she replied, trying to keep any trace of resentment out of her voice. “You said the house would be mine, right?” Ben’s hands stilled on her neck, and his casual cockiness cooled into wariness. “I am hiring someone to take care of all the legal and financial issues for me – I’m being gifted a house, a car – it’s all a bit more complex than having PAYE taken out of my pay at the garage.”

Ben looked at her steadily, his eyes searching. “You’re hiring a lawyer.”

“Sure,” she shrugged, trying to sound casual and business-like. Like she did this every day.

“Very well,” he said cautiously. “That’s sensible. I’ll pay for the house directly via the agent, and your lawyer can handle the purchase.” He stepped back into her, stroking one hand down her arm. “Let me buy you lunch,” he smiled. “We can walk up to the high street, there’s a Greek place…”

Rey fought urge to scream “yes!” and grab his hand. “I can’t; I’m sorry. I have a few things that I need to do.”

Ben’s big eyes looked somewhere between insulted and sad. “Okay, at least let me give you a ride back.”

She stepped a pace back and his hand fell away. “I’ve got an Oyster card,” she answered. “And I’ll call an Uber from the station to your parents.”

After he left, Rey stood for a long moment in the front hallway, a shaft of sun playing on the wood floor, staring at the inside of the heavy door she’d just closed on Ben. She wanted him so badly that it hurt, and she’d admit to herself that she loved him. But she wouldn’t let herself get sucked into his orbit.

She patted her belly to calm the stretching, tumbling baby and set off up the stairs to choose a room for her child. She pushed aside the tears she couldn’t stop and explored her ridiculously expensive new house. As it turns out, she thought to herself with a self-deprecating smirk, I am pretty good at this gold-digging business.

…

By the time he made it back to his office from what he hoped would be Rey’s new house, Snoke was already in the conference room, a team of assistants and interns flapping up a fury and he shouted and raved. Finn, calm as ever, handed off Ben’s laptop to him as he came out of the lift, and accepted Ben’s coat in turn.

“He arrived 12 minutes ago, Mr Ren,” Finn explained, following his boss down the corridor. Finn paused to hang Ben’s coat on a rack as they passed by, then scurried to catch up.

“Thank you, Finn,” he acknowledged as they entered the conference room. An intern who’d been setting a fresh coffee before Snoke near-melted in relief and slunk out of sight. “That’ll be all.”

Snoke had rather tediously established himself at the head of the long table, so Ben settled somewhere near the middle and watched the veins throb in Snoke’s bald head.

“Where the fuck have you been, Kylo?” Snoke sneered. Ben glanced out the glass door of the room; Finn was herding the office staff well out of earshot. “I’m sat here with my arse hanging out, one of our top deputies mutilated and videos of it all over the sodding dark web. And you’re off on a holiday with your fucking family and that little slut you knocked up.”

“I was with them on a court-ordered release, and now that matter has been cleared up,” Ben answered calmly.

“You work for me, Ren, or have you forgotten that?” He threw a file at Ben’s head, but it fell well short of its target. He reached out and opened it up. It was stuffed full of photos, of Rey, of Ben, of Ben and Rey together. Rey inside the house that he was buying her, which she’d only visited once. Today.

“Right,” Ben barely raised an eyebrow. “That’s Rey.”

“And now your lonely prick is in charge of our business?” he raged. “I rent you plenty of whores to keep this sort of thing…” he pointed a bony finger at Rey’s image, “from happening. You’ve bought her a house… fine. That will be the end of it. Do you understand, you little shit? Hux is gone because of this bitch and there will be repercussions.”

“Hux is gone because I tracked him down using my own contacts, then tortured the holy fuck out of him.” Ben leaned back in his chair. “There won’t be any repercussions for us.”

“Do you want a fucking war, boy? Is that what this is?”

Ben spread his arms before him. “Of course not. I’m your lawyer, as I have been for several years. I’m here to make sure that wars don’t happen. To kill them before they start.” He met Snoke’s glare with a fierce tranquillity.

“I have business in Moscow that requires… shit, it required Hux. Now it requires you. I expect you to be on a plane by tomorrow. Your little fucktoy stays here.” He tapped hard on the table with his fingertips. “You’ll leave her in my good care.” Snoke smiled magnanimously. “We’ll keep a close eye on her for you. And if you think that you can get out of our little arrangement, Ren…” Snoke leaned over the table until his face was centimetres from Ben’s. “I will cut that child from her belly while you watch. And that video will be all over the dark web as a warning to anyone thinking of crossing me. I’ll tie you to a chair and pry your eyes open Clockwork Orange-style, you stupid fuck, and make you watch the two of them die over and over while I do to your cock what you did to Hux’s.”

Ben met the speech with total calm. “That’s hardly going to be necessary, Mr Snoke. I value this chance to prove my loyalty to you once again. As I have over and over.”

For the next 20 minutes, Snoke explained what needed to be accomplished in Russia, and Ben kept his mine resolutely on his job. He couldn’t let any trace of Rey creep in, not yet. Not until Snoke stormed back out of the office, and Ben could pick up the photos and run them through the shredder, one by one.

…

Han woke just past midnight, sensing that something was wrong in the house. He leaned over Leia, but she was sleeping peacefully, a summary of a case she’d been reading tumbled onto the duvet at her side. He clicked off her bedside lamp, then pulled his from the drawer of his own nightstand. It was nothing he could call in to security, just something felt… different.

He padded over to Rey’s room, but he could hear her soft snoring through the door. Chewie’s snoring he could hear all the way down the hallway. Luke’s door was open, though, and his brother-in-law was nowhere to be seen. Huh, Han thought, Luke’s senses had always been even keener than his, so if he’d been awakened as well…

He checked through every room he passed, not knowing what he was looking for, but keeping the gun at the ready, safety on. He didn’t want to shoot Luke by mistake.

Finally he heard a few soft words, a low conversation, coming from the kitchen. Luke was sitting across from Ben, both of them drinking, and Ben swaying slightly even while seated. Han wordlessly fetched himself a glass and sat down next to Luke.

“Son,” he took in the darker-than-usual circles under Ben’s eyes, the tension in his neck and shoulders, the hazy look on his face. “Good to see you home.” 

Luke spoke without taking his eyes off his nephew. “Ben and I were just discussing a business trip that he’s been asked to take.” 

Ben watched his father with a blank expression. “How’s Rey?”

“Fast asleep. Snoring adorably,” he assured. “She’s taking her vitamins and eating her meals and getting plenty of exercise. She’s taking her driving test end of next week.”

“Dad, I…” Ben trailed off, but Han could see a very slight tremble in his jaw, a tell that he remembered from his boy’s childhood. “I just want her to be safe, and happy. I don’t think that I have a lot to contribute to either of those outcomes.” He was almost whispering. Han inched his hand across the expanse of the table; his son’s hand was so close and he ever so cautiously lay his fingers across the back of Ben’s hand. “Snoke was back and forth in every fucking call – sometimes I thought I needed to keep away from her, sometimes I thought I needed to keep her close. Now it’s all gone to shit… I knew I should have stayed away from her.”

“Ben,” Han said slowly, “Rey wants to be able to love you. I think that man has you all confused.”

Ben shook his head, looking up at Han with fierce resolve. “I’m not confused, Dad. I want out. I want to be with Rey.”

Han glanced at Luke, and without smiling, his friend gave him a nod. “Okay, kid.” He gripped his son’s hand and for the first time in at least a decade, he felt Ben grip right back. “Okay.”


	28. The Russians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, that took a long time. Apologies for the delay. But we're back!

“I think that Poe and Rose should be here for this,” Leia repeated, pacing the rug in front of the sofa. No one had taken the blindest notice of her the first few times. “We have enough evidence on Snoke. We have a solid case.”

Ben sneered from his spot on the sofa next to Han, in the cutting, soul-crushing way that only her son could, “I’ve seen your case. You wouldn’t even have him in front of a court with me as his lawyer, much less would you win.”

“But that’s the whole point of this: you won’t be there to get him off the hook. He’ll have some other lawyer, some lesser lawyer,” she persisted. “And anyway, you haven’t actually seen what Poe has…”

“You’ve shown me everything!” Ben pounded the coffee table, and Leia caught the quelling signals that Chewie threw to him. It put her in mind of his teenaged tantrums. Ben hadn’t seen everything; she and Poe had held back any evidence that was clearly tied to Finn. “For any normal human, you’d have an open and shut case. But I think it should be obvious by now that Snoke is not normal. I am his fucking lawyer. Why are you doubting my take on this?”

“Don’t swear at your mother,” Han said reflexively, before he could stop himself. Ben rolled his eyes. The whole conversation was threatening to spiral into the same sort of teenaged drama that every confrontation with Ben always had, and given that it was 3am, Leia couldn’t take it. “We do believe you, kid. Leia, if Ben thinks that he needs to sort this out from Russia, then we just have to change our plans.”

Luke appeared behind her, putting his arm around her shoulder. “I think that Ben’s plan could work…”

“Could?” Leia seethed, her own temper getting the better of her. “I won’t gamble my son’s life.”

“I think every plan has some risk attached, Leia,” her brother soothed. She batted his arm away. Luke had never wavered in his optimism that Ben would come back to them, at some point, somehow. But the details of the plan mattered, and Leia didn’t like these details. “How long do you envision this work in Russia to take, Ben?”

He threw up his hands. “Hard to say, but it’s not going to happen overnight. And it’s likely to involve me travelling beyond Russia.”

Han worked his jaw, and Leia knew exactly what was coming. She tried to signal to him to keep it to himself, but… “Rey’s giving birth in less than two months, kid.” The stone-cold look on Ben’s face said it all, and Leia felt her heart break a little for the girl asleep upstairs in the guest bedroom. “You can’t do that to her, Ben,” her husband continued.

Luke sat down on the sofa next to Ben and patted his back. “You know that whatever happens, we’ll look out for her.”

“I need to make sure,” Ben sounded exhausted, “that even with Snoke gone, no one can touch them.”

Leia felt everything she’d worked for shifting and falling, blowing away and rising in unexpected places, unstable as a sand dune in a windstorm. Han, Ben and Luke sat together in a row, Chewie overflowing the armchair next to them. Ever since they’d lost Ben to Snoke’s dark whispers, Leia had been waiting to see this very scene before her, and she wasn’t going to lose now that she had it in her grasp.

Ben took a deep breath and tried again: “Mum, I know what I need to do. Can you just support me?” He looked just like her little boy again, asking this, with his solemn, dark eyes and heavy mood. “Please.”

“Okay, Ben, I’ll hold back Poe and Rose until you tell us to move.” She sank into a chair across from him, and when she reached out her hands to him, he reached back. “And no matter what happens, you know that we will take care of Rey and our grandchild.” Leia was ready to do anything, even blow up her own career, if that’s what it took to have Ben back again and Rey safe.

…

Ben watched Rey sleep for about half an hour before he woke her. She had on a pair of the pyjamas that they’d bought on that shopping trip, back before he’d fucked things up – a soft white cotton, silky and light, which she had tugged up nearly to her breasts as she wriggled about trying to find a comfortable position. It was the strangest thing, seeing the baby move or kick as she slept, oblivious.

What Ben had meant to do, was to wake her up and talk to her. To explain himself. To declare himself. To her, for her.

What he actually did was lay his head down on the bed beside her, his face pressed against her belly, his body balled up on the bottom half of the bed… and fall asleep. Because he came awake slowly, a shaft of sunlight played on his face and Rey’s were fingers carding through his hair, over and over, the repetitive motion almost enough to send him to sleep again.

“Ben?” Rey’s voice was quiet. “Ben, you awake? I, ummm, I kinda need to move.” She was still stroking his hair, and he did not feel like moving while this playing-with-his-hair thing was ongoing. He sort of grunted. “You’re holding on really tight, and I need the loo. Like, now. Ben? Ben. The kid’s kicking me in the bladder.”

He untangled the arm he’d slung over her thighs and the hand lodged at the small of her back, and he let go of the hip that he was gripping with his other hand. Turning onto his back with a grimace, he opened his eyes to see Rey’s face hovering over his, the ceiling directly behind her. She looked amused and bewildered, by turns. “Good morning, beautiful,” he forced out.

“Good morning yourself.” One eyebrow raised at him. She slipped out of the bed and headed to the toilet. Hoisting himself up with the help of the headboard, Ben rubbed at his head. He felt like he’d drunk a bottle of vodka by himself, when in reality he’d had nothing stronger than tea last night. It was just lack of sleep and tension and worry, a shitty combination.

She reappeared in the bathroom doorway. “Ben. What are you doing here?”

“That’s… sod it all… that’s a complicated question to answer.” He sat forward to have a better look at her: she had a relaxed pose, nothing defensive in her stance, maybe a little… exasperated?... around the edges of her expression. He reached out a hand to welcome her back to the bed, but she didn’t move. “First, I’m here because I need to leave for Moscow this evening.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Right. And Finn couldn’t drive you to the airport from your own flat?”

Ben let his hand drop onto the bed. “I’m not heading to Russia by choice. I wouldn’t leave you two if I didn’t have to,” he added. “Snoke wants me over there.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me. Or you snuggling up to me like that’s a thing we still do.” Now her arms were crossed over the top of her belly. “Because it’s not a thing we do anymore.”

Ben turned down the duvet on her side of the bed and patted it. “I’d feel a lot better about this next part if you were sitting a little closer to me.” He held his hand out again. Instead of taking it, Rey shuffled over to bed and sat down, legs folded beneath her, facing him straight on. “Rey. I am going to Russia, and I’ll be working there for a little while, but I want you to know that I’m going for you. For you both. I’m not leaving you, I will never leave you, but I also don’t know when I’ll be back… and…” He realised that he was crying when Rey reached forward to brush away a tear from the edge of his nose.

“Why are you going, then? If you don’t want to do this anymore, why go at all?” Somehow, he’d caught hold of one of her hands and he was holding onto it probably more tightly than was comfortable for her.

“I don’t have the sort of job that I can just write a resignation letter, Rey,” he sighed. “Quitting is a bit more complicated.”

“But you are quitting?” she persisted. She looked so hopeful. Ben had seen that look on his parents’ faces, on Luke’s, on Chewie and Maz, for years, and all he had ever done is disappoint them. He would not disappoint her.

“I really think it’s better if you don’t know too much about this. I know I have no right to ask for your trust…”

Rey leaned away, her pretty eyes appraising him. “Trusting other people hasn’t worked out well for me…” She didn’t look minded to start her personal journey to trust with him. She tried to pulled her hands from his and now looked down, Ben’s fingers tensing into a tighter grip. “I suppose that your Mum and Dad may keep in touch, while you are away.”

Ben couldn’t help but laugh out loud, then stifled it the best he could. Han wouldn’t let her move out if he had his way; Leia had already asked him if he thought Rey would consider spending next Christmas with them. “Rey, my parents want to be as involved with you and the baby as you will allow. Probably more than you’ll want.” He managed to snag her second hand and entrap it between his own. “And I want to be there for all of it, all that I can. I want you to know that I…” Rey moved at startling speed, ripping one hand free and pressing it tight over his mouth.

“I don’t want a big confession from you, or some big statement,” she said in a rush. “Maz says that I have deep-seated feelings of abandonment, and I really don’t think she understands quite how abandoned I feel, hmm, all the time. You want to leave? Fine. You say you’ll come back?” She shrugged. “We’ll see. I always intended to do this alone anyway.” He was definitely crying; it was a little humiliating, and she was brushing away the tears with her fingers. Now he’d be leaving without even releasing the ‘I love you’ into the open.

He half expected – more than half – Rey to push him away when he leaned forward into her, brushing his lips beneath her ear and down her neck.

“I’ll come back. You’ll see,” he promised.

Her sad smile twisted the knife into his soul. “I hope so, Ben.” Still, she kissed him back, again and again, until he eased off her top, and then her pyjamas bottoms. Rey unbuckled his belt and he slipped off his trousers and t-shirt; they arranged themselves – her on his lap, him sitting back against the headboard – so that they could keep kissing even as he entered her. The position strained his back, curved around the baby, but from here he could touch her breasts and her belly and try to show her how much he loved them both. So she’d know, even if she wouldn’t let him say the words. She came with his lips pressed to hers, breathing into his mouth, little whispers of his name on her tongue. Maybe she loved him, too, he thought as he came quietly inside her. Maybe she’d wait.

…

When he spotted that Maks and Dominik had arrived in person to meet him off the plane in Moscow, Ben allowed himself to relax just a fraction. There had been – there always was – a possibility that it would a heavyweight underling sporting a pocketful of zipties and the lobotomised expression of the professional henchman. Instead, he braced himself for the hearty bearhug that had been Maks’ signature greeting since Ben was a child.

“Veniamin!” Ben felt his ribs pressing into his internal organs as Maks’ hug hit its stride. “Look at him! Are you leaning down to hug me now, Ven? Will you look, Dominik!” Here one meaty arm swung out and whacked his son straight in the solar plexus. Dominik had braced for it out of habit.

“Yea, yea, I see him, father,” the younger man confirmed, rubbing the dent from his chest.

Maks threw an arm around Ben that broadcast volumes in its painful intensity: rivals were looking on, and Ben was under the protection of the Sidorov family. Dominik hefted Ben’s bag onto one shoulder, and they walked out a side gate that bypassed customs and immigration, for when Maks met someone off the plane, he met them just off the gangway. The service stairs took them out onto the jetway beneath the plane, where a white Rolls Royce limo with the darkest of blacked-out windows waited for them. Ben supressed his distaste for the ostentatious car, sliding into a seat across from the father and son who controlled almost 80% of the money washing through the business in Russia and Ukraine (Dominik’s mother – God rest her soul, as Giulia always said - had been born in Kiev). The plane had landed at 2am, but Ben felt wide awake.

“Your father called me, Veniamin,” Maks explained, holding out a glass of vodka for Ben, “and he said you might need to stay with us for a while. You know what I owe your father, after that Kessel run miracle he pulled off.” Maks waved the hand holding his own glass of vodka, sloshing it across the leather seats. Dominik wordlessly topped him up. “What’s this all about then? You come to look over our receipts?” He laughed.

Ben downed his vodka and set it down on the central console table. “It’s about Snoke.”

“_He_ called me, too,” Maks tilted his head toward his son. “This one overheard.” 

“You owe… well, we both know what’s owed. Snoke wanted me to come out here and put a bullet in Dominik’s brain, to get you back in line. I paraphrase, it was a twenty minute rant punctuated with a details of Dominik’s toes and fingers being pried off one by one – but you get the idea.” Ben held his hand over the top of his glass to ward off more vodka. “He’s ordered a reorganisation, and I’m here to do the reorganising for him.”

Maks reached over to set him own glass down next to Ben’s. “But I take it, Ven, that you are not planning to kill my boy?”

Ben slowly shook his head. “No. Of course not. I understand about family, Maks. But we need to talk.”

“It’s time for a change, at long last,” Maks nodded, looking thoughtful. The car pulled up in front of a townhouse on the Noble Row, and all three men waited for the armed Sidorov security at the entrance to open the car door for them. Four men – each one taller and broader than Ben – escorted them the two metres across the pavement to the front door, and two of the guards followed them into the drawing room. A maid, whose sleep-lined face and uniform suggested that she’d been woken for the occasion, set out tea, more vodka and some squid and salted herring.

Shovelling some herring onto his plate, Ben levelled with Maks: “I have a bit of a family situation, and I need some help.”

“Your father – he says there’s a girl. And there’s a baby in the girl.” Maks looked at Ben over the top of his glasses. “He says there is no wedding ring on the girl.”

Dominik rolled his eyes. “Dad, really? Pozdravlyayu, Ven. I’m happy for you,” he said. “Ignore the 19th century morality of the aging mobster. What do you need?”

Ben settled back into the overstuffed armchair and explained everything.

…

Rey never told anyone about her real birthday. Sure, foster family after foster family had marked the date now written on her brand new driving license – February 27th – but that date had been assigned in much the same way as her surname. There seemed to be some evidence that her name was Rey, because that’s what she’d told the police officer who collected her from the off-licence where she’d been abandoned. The paediatrician had ventured a guess that she was about 30 months old, but she was malnourished and barely verbal, so he could have been wrong by a few months this way or that. Her parents were never found; she had no birth certificate or belongings.

With no one to say any different, Rey took to celebrating her birthday on a day of her choosing. First, she disliked February, so she had always chosen a day in March. She would consult the weather forecast, choose the sunniest, or warmest, or on rare occasions the snowiest day, and then plan her celebration. She would sneak out alone, so that no one could spoil it for her. In younger years, she’d run away for the day with any money she’d been able to get her hands on, buy herself a cookie or a cupcake or a donut with pretty icing, and visit a new place: a park, a free museum, a riverbank, a movie.

This year, she had a brand new house as a present. Leia and Han had taken her to John Lewis and helped her to pick out a whole home’s worth of furnishings – beds, sofas, chairs, tables of all sizes, bookshelves and lamps, curtains and rugs, sheets and cushions. Rey didn’t have nearly enough possessions to justify the wardrobes and dressers and cabinets, but she didn’t object as Leia directed the delivery people to the right rooms and Han and Chewie mounted a television set to the wall of her front room.

So when she sat that first night in her tastefully furnished house with its mysterious kitchen appliances and television that she had no desire to watch, Rey decided to choose a day. Friday looked promising: a forecast of 17C and sunshine. She turned her phone over in her hands for a quarter hour before she finally came to the second important conclusion; she was going to invite someone else to mark the day with her.

She rang Finn.

She could almost hear him bouncing up and down with excitement over the phone.

“Do you know what you’d like to do?” he questioned, and when she didn’t answer quickly enough, he ploughed on: “I have an idea! But it’s going to be a secret, ok?” Rey did not like this at all; she had never entrusted her birthday to anyone, but Finn sounded so excited, she couldn’t say no.

So on a Friday in late March, Rey stood at the bar in the National Theatre and explained the cranberry/lime/soda cocktail to a good-looking Spanish bartender as Finn sipped his beer. She was wearing yet another new frock, courtesy of a phone call to Isabelle at Selfridges. The black dress wrapped every curve in thick, clingy fabric that dove between her breasts in a deep V and tied off in a careless on the right side, just above her bump. The dress was unapologetically sexy, probably chosen with Kylo’s taste in mind, and it had made Rey blush into the full-length mirror that Chewie had fixed to her bedroom wall a week ago.

Finn had been telling Rey about a conversation he’d had with Poe, and it was clear to Rey that he and the investigator maybe had a little flirtation of their own going on. It was apparently Poe who had recommended this comedy/drama they were about to watch, Rey's first outing to live theatre, if one didn't count school nativities. And Rey didn't.

The Spanish bartender had barely taken his eyes off her cleavage as he prepared her drink. He flashed Rey a devastating smile as he handed over her cocktail, complete a colourful paper straw, a tropical umbrella and a slice of pineapple.

“Happy birthday,” he purred, having picked up on Finn and Rey’s conversation. “Are you having a good day?”

Subconsciously adjusting her dress, Rey smiled back. Finn tapped his card to the reader that the bartender held out, looking between them with a raised eyebrow. Finn turned to Rey and announced, “I’m just going to find the loo before the show starts. Be right back.”

The bartender – ignoring the growing queue of theatre-goers vying for pre-show drinks behind Rey – reached across the bar and settled his hand against her bare upper arm. He encouraged her to the right, away from the queue, then slid his hand down her arm until just their fingertips were touching. Men touching her without invitation was a problem she’d dealt with before, but when Diego leaned across the bar to whisper his name against her ear, she felt a silly giggle bubble up from somewhere deep inside.

How the hell could he be flirting with her? Her ankles were swollen. She kind of needed to pee. She was the size of an economy car.

“Would you let me put my number in your phone, mamacita?” he asked. Rey blinked for long enough to notice the first flash of uncertainty in Diego’s eyes, then fumbled in the tiny handbag Isabelle had sent with the dress. She pushed her phone wordlessly across the bar to Diego. Was his smile this seductive before? Because it was now, as he tapped his number into her contacts and slid the phone back to her.

“I’ll be here until closing. You come find me, and I’ll make this a very happy birthday for you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her fingers before turning back to the restless queue of drinkers.

Finn appeared behind her, laughing, and he guided them to their seats as she told him what had happened. “He kissed your hand?” he chuckled. “He was straight out of central casting.” Then, more seriously: “You gonna call him?”

Rey shook her head furiously. “No way. But… it’s nice, now that Ben’s left, to think that I’ll find someone again one day.”

“Rey… you know that Kylo… I mean Ben… he didn’t want to leave you.”

She shrugged. He’d sent texts every few days, checking on her, assuring her that he was thinking about her. She had replied twice, both with a perfunctory, “I’m well, don’t worry.” She was out for her birthday, one that beat even that time she’d stolen £8 from her foster parents and snuck off to a travelling steam fair in a local park. She didn’t want to think about Ben holding her tight in the guest bed in his parents’ house, stroking her body, telling her again and again that he’d come back. 

The house lights went down, and Finn squeezed her hand on the armrest, and Rey relaxed into her twentieth birthday. Just before the curtain went up, while it was only just socially acceptable to send a last text, Rey tapped out the words and hit send before she could decide against it.

…

Half-cut with vodka and victory, Ben watched the guarded eyes of fifty or so men whose tattoos declared their allegiance to him. Not Snoke, but him; some of the men hadn’t even healed yet, the tats still bloody and fresh. Ben stood in front of the group gathered in a freezing cold warehouse, while Maks and Dominik explained the final details of tomorrow night’s raid on a sex, gambling and gun club in the southernmost reaches of Moscow. The club’s owner was the city’s last holdout in their manic, overpowering war on Snoke’s enemies.

Over the last few weeks, this cohesive and loyal army they’d built had brought the rival gangs under control, tamed the slumlords and dealers and pimps and re-established a firm grip on the illegal economy of the city. Their strikes had been sudden and severe, exactly the brutal reprisal that Snoke had ordered Kylo to inflict, to make sure that the upstart gangs scattered through the city were utterly destroyed.

As he listened to Dominik speak, Ben felt a phone buried deep in a coat pocket begin to vibrate.

Rey’s phone. Only she had this number; he kept it on him at all times in case of emergency. She’d texted four words:

_Today is my birthday_.

Shit, it was already 7.30pm in the UK. Not much time. His eyes swept the room, but the men were focussed on Dominik, who was splitting them into tactical teams.

_UR only one knows that. Xept 4 Finn_.

Oh. He stepped to the edge of the warehouse, almost out of sight. He pulled up a browser and immediately ordered flowers to be delivered to her house, enough to fill the place with scent. Then he added a bottle of sparkling water, to remind her of their first night together. Then macaroons, as a reminder of their only date.

_Happy birthday, Rey. I wish I could be there with you_.

He thought about that last sentence and decided to ask what was on his mind.

_Do you wish I could be there with you_?

He waited over an hour for her response. He was back in the meeting, confirming the names of men who should be brought in and which should be shot on sight, when his phone finally buzzed.

_Yeah. I do, yeah_.

With just a hint of a smile, he slipped the phone into his pocket and carried on finalising the plans for the raid.


	29. The Distance

When Rey dropped the torch, and it rolled beneath the creeper, she swore so loudly that Chewie made a tutting noise like an old-timey school mistress. Try as she might, she could not roll herself over enough to reach the damn thing, wedged as she was beneath the Range Rover with the dodgy ABS.

“Stop making Victorian noises of disapproval and grab a broom. I dropped my light,” she groused, brushing a bead of sweat from her forehead. The weather wasn’t really warm yet, but Rey felt like someone had switched on her body’s central heating to max power, especially here in the garage. It made her sweaty and cranky. “Chewie, could you please just…”

“What the hell… Chewie!” Uh-oh. Han. “Chewie I told you not to let her under the cars. Jesus Christ.” Rey felt two calloused hands grab her ankles and pull, the creeper sliding out from under the SUV. He nearly toppled her; she’d stuffed the creeper with roughly 20cm of pillows to pad her sore hips and back. “Rey, what do you think you’re doing under there?”

She tried to sit up, and when she couldn’t, she tried to pretend that she hadn’t tried. “I’m looking over the braking system just like you said that we should.” She pushed her arms behind her to stabilise her next attempt at sitting; nothing doing. She was pretty sure that Han had noticed that she was stuck like a turtle on its back. “I just couldn’t reach my torch.”

“That Rover will crush you and my grandkid to death if it falls,” Han carried on regardless. “Now, get up and stop trying to sneak underneath the vehicles. You’re a health and safety hazard under there.” Chewie choked out a laugh and made a flippant gesture at Han, of all people, mentioning health and safety. “Shut up, Chewie. Rey, get the hell up.”

Rey made a final attempt at rolling to the side, the way she did to get out of bed, but she couldn’t roll over the wall of padding at her sides. She relaxed into the bed of cushions, looking unfazed. “I’m good here. Just resting my legs.”

“Chewie, grab her other arm.” The two men stationed themselves on either side of her and pulled her up to her feet. “I thought we discussed this – there’s plenty needs doing in this garage that does not require you scooting under a 2 tonne vehicle.”

Rey brushed herself off. “I think you’re discriminating against me because I’m pregnant,” she sniffed. “There’s a module on ABS in the online course I’m taking, and here we had a perfect opportunity for me to turn in a project…”

Han waded right up to her, a finger wagging in her face. “No. You will not get under another car.

Rey sighed. The Rover was a rarity here in this little garage that Han owned ‘for tax purposes’. The phrase made no sense to Rey. He worked almost exclusively on the sort of high-end racing cars that he collected himself, though most of the owners had made prestige purchases and knew nothing about how to run such demanding cars. This garage earned a fair bit of money in a scattershot way, which seemed to not matter much to Han at all. He did the work for the love of it, and none of the work was offset against employee wages as Han, Chewie and now Rey worked without pay. Even so, Rey had to admit that the work was more appealing than fixing the Mondeos and Clios she’d been used to at Plutt’s.

Chewie signed that he’d finish up the Rover and rolled under, leaving Han to guide Rey over to a McLaren 570S that its owner had driven through sandstorms, then driven back to the UK from Libya via the Alps, with apparently no regard for the transmission. Rey was leaning under the hood, commiserating with Han on the owner’s careless disregard for such a fine ride, when a pain ripped across her belly. She gripped Han’s arm and dug in, hard. When the pain passed, she looked at Han to see her own shock reflected back at her.

“That hurt,” she whimpered, a hint of panic in her voice.

“Okay,” Han pulled his phone out of his back pocket and started texting. “I’ll have Leia get that ob-gyn you saw before to meet us at the hospital. Chewie!” The big man reappeared from beneath the Rover. “Chewie, I need to get Rey to the hospital. Can you close up here?” Chewie near-vaulted off the creeper and rushed over, signing madly. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s early. How far along, kid?”

“35 weeks,” she hiccoughed. Too early. Chewie was right.

Han had to settle her into the passenger seat and strap her in, she was so rattled. But by the time they’d pulled onto the A-road to the hospital, Han in consultation with Leia on speaker-phone, Rey had pulled herself together, and she sent a text to the number only she knew. 

…

_On way to hospital. Had a contraction. _

_Ow, dammit. Make that contractions. Plural_.

Ben, who had been interrogating the two oversized pricks on the floor at his feet, simply shot the first through the head. Keeping his gun trained on the second man, who was now speaking very, very fast Russian to a satisfied Maks, Ben typed back one-handed: _U ok? Baby ok?_

_Han is driving me. Leia has arranged a doc. _

That answered nothing; Ben put the phone away and signalled for Maks’ attention.

“He says Snoke sent that one,” Maks gestured with his weapon to the dead man, “to kill Dominik when he learned that you hadn’t. Then he sent this one,” he waved the gun to the other man, “to watch you and report back.”

Ben smiled at the man cowering on the floor in a puddle of his own piss. “Excellent. Dominik,” Ben turned to find him across the room, “find out who else Snoke has sent. This piece of shit probably knows. Then we’ll have him send Snoke that report.” He glanced down at his phone and saw 3 new texts from Rey. “Secure him when you’re done, Dominik.”

Ben walked away as decisively as he could manage, his hands starting to shake, and swiped open his connection to Rey.

_Contractions not regular and really far apart. Fucking painful, though. _

_I’m scared, Ben. _

_What if something is wrong_?

Ben typed as fast as he could, not wanting her to think he wasn’t listening and stop updating.

_You’re doing the right thing, getting checked_.

_You’re already being an amazing mother_.

He typed ‘I love you’ and then backspaced.

_I wish I were there. I’m sorry I’m not_.

Ben paced in a circle for 10 minutes, waiting for her reply. His heart was racing, and it has nothing to do with Snoke or the assassin or the spy. Dom, Maks and the eleven other men with whom they’d broken into this place were finished cleaning up: the body had been wrapped in plastic and was heading for an incinerator. Snoke’s lackey had been brutally worked over but was still alive and apparently more than willing to switch sides and work for Kylo Ren, given that he had little choice. Finally, his phone buzzed.

_Hooked up to all sorts. Doc says baby’s heartrate good. _

_Your Dad is having a panic. _

Like father, like son, Ben thinks for possibly the first time ever. What about _you_?’ he wants to shout across Europe, then in a small voice that he stifled down, Are _you_ going to die? Agitated and twitching, he followed the men out into the waiting SUVs and began the circuitous, two-hour journey back to Moscow and Noble Row. Time dragged out as he stared at the unchanging screen of his phone.

_Rey? What’s going on? You okay? _

Silence. Rey texted back nothing, and he wondered if it was possible to feel your blood pressure rising, like the mercury in a cartoon thermometer pushing up, up, up until it explodes. Maks dismissed the men at the door, the snitch was stuffed in a locked closet below stairs, naked and beaten. Ben took the stairs two at a time to make it to his suite of rooms on the third floor of the townhouse. Sweating now, he typed in the code for the wall safe and rummaged through the cash and passports and paperwork and two handguns and ammo until he found an unused Sim card.

_Dad_?

**Ben? **

_What’s going on? How’s Rey? She said you were taking her to the hospital_.

**They’re doing a scan now. Contractions stopped and started then stopped again**.

_Fuck. Is the baby coming_?

**??**

Ben nearly threw the phone at the wall. _Is Mum there_?

**Yes**.

_Well_.

_Put_.

_Her._

_On_.

**No need to get your knickers in a twist, son**.

**Ben**?

_Mum. Is Rey okay_?

**I’m sitting her with her now. The doc is looking over the scan results. Contractions stopped for now.**

Ben slumped onto the floor with his back to the outrageous, gilt four-poster bed.

**Doc wants bed rest for a week. Then only gentle activity**.

**Rey arguing the point**.

**She would have made a good lawyer, you know. **

_Is she going to be all right? And the baby?_

**They’re both going to be fine, Benny. Scan all good. I will drive her home and stay with her tonight. **

Ben closed his eyes and cradled the phone over his heart, listening to the sounds of Friday night/Saturday morning Moscow outside his window. He’d never felt so tired and so far away from where he wanted to be. Finally, he picked the phone back up.

_Thank you, Mum_.

Over the last few weeks, Ben had established control over Snoke’s territory from Moscow north to St Petersburg, through the Baltics and Belarus, and south past Kiev to the Black Sea: essentially the areas of interest to Maks. Earlier today, though, he’d had the first call from Marseille, cutting him into a takeover deal from a rival gang there. That meant that within Europe, some were openly snubbing Snoke and dealing directly with Kylo Ren. Until this point, Ben had been able to sell the whole Russian outing as nothing more than Kylo working on behalf of Snoke, just as he’d been asked to. But Snoke wouldn’t miss that call from Marseille for long; it was a coup.

It wasn’t possible to instigate half a coup: you either did it or you didn’t. With Maks firmly in control, Ben needed to take Dominik and head to France. There could be no return to England without Russia, France and Italy at his back. But Rey couldn’t be left in London where Snoke could get to her. And Rey had been ordered to rest: no stress, no travelling, or he’d risk her life and his child’s.

Fuck.

…

God, this mattress is comfortable, Rey sighed. She swung herself onto her side, hugging the body pillow that Leia had bought her weeks ago. She hadn’t understood the appeal at the time, but now she didn’t know how she’d ever slept without it. The half-wall of window next to her bed let in the light and budding warmth of a sunny Spring morning, visible through diaphanous curtains, and she closed her eyes again. No contractions, no pain (other than her back, and that never seemed to shift); Rey sprawled contentedly in the centre of the bed and spread her arms to either side of her, only just able to reach both sides of the supersized bed.

Fragments of a lively conversation drifted up the stairs. Leia’s voice came and went, but the low pitch of Finn was a surprise and the lilt of Giulia surprised her. She felt that she should get up and see to her guests. Huh. The doctor had ordered bedrest. She carefully swung herself to her feet and used the loo, the voices downstairs dropping in volume but increasing in tempo. By the time she’d brushed her hair and teeth and settled against her headboard, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Leia edged the door open, then smiled broadly at seeing Rey awake. “Good morning! Here…” she raised a tray with eggs and baked beans and toast and tea and fried tomatoes, “I come bearing breakfast. How are you feeling this morning?”

Rey couldn’t help it: someone bringing her breakfast in bed brought to mind Ben, mussed and shirtless, leaning against the doorframe of his childhood bedroom with a mug of tea for her in his hands.

“Thank you! That looks incredible.” Leia set the tray down next to Rey on the bed. “I feel completely fine – not a twinge. Who’s downstairs? Finn and Giulia?”

Leia’s easy smile tensed. “Yes. You eat up and get dressed. Then I’ll bring them up.”

Rey turned on some music and ate every bite of the huge breakfast. Mopping up the last of the beans with her toast, she reached for her phone and noticed the messages from Ben, the first few asking how she was and exhorting her to follow the doctor’s orders and take it easy, that she deserved to put her feet up and rest. She smiled as she scrolled through them, until she got to the last one:

_Is Giulia there yet? _

How did he know about Giulia’s visit? Why would Ben, all the way in Russia, even think to ask about that?

She wriggled upright in bed and set aside the breakfast tray. Something was going on, and it had something to do with Ben. Or the people he worked for. Or the people who worked for him. Or the people who had already tried to stab her and shoot her.

She willed herself to be calm. She took a shower, as Leia had suggested. Whatever was going on, Leia would already know all about it. She found a comfortable pair of trousers and belted them under her belly, then dug to the bottom of her wardrobe for a supersoft black t-shirt that she’d stolen from Ben.

She pulled up the duvet and made sure everything was tidy, then stuck her head out the door and called everyone upstairs. She sat up in the bed, still trying to keep the doctor’s orders in mind. Rest. No stress.

Giulia kissed both her cheeks and stroked a hand along the side of her face. Finn leaned in for a warm hug. They all arranged themselves on the bed, chattering about how wonderful she looked and what luck that Han had been around to get her to A&E.

Rey looked sharply at Leia. “What’s going on? Ben just texted, asked if Giulia had stopped by yet.”

All of the smiles disappeared, and Finn started chewing on his bottom lip. He gripped Rey’s hand. “Ben’s been really successful in Russia. And in a few neighbouring countries,” he added. Rey’s eyebrows rose. She didn’t bother asking what he’d been successful at. “But… Snoke’s noticed. And now…”

Leia took over: “Now we need to find you a safe place to be. I’m sorry, Rey, but we’ll need to move you again.”

Rey crossed her arms over her bump. “No.” She shook her head furiously. “I’m not supposed to move. You spent yesterday afternoon telling me how important it was to rest!”

Giulia patted her knee and smiled. “Don’t worry, cara. I don’t travel any way but in complete luxury nowadays.”

Rey balked. “What… you’re coming with me?”

“Certo, cara. We need to leave the country, and I have contacts.”

“This is ridiculous! I’m nobody. Why does anyone want to kidnap me?”

“You’re not nobody to Ben, my love,” Leia sighed. “I’m so sorry. Snoke knows that.”

Finn looked almost guilty: “Snoke has put around a message among the assassins and kidnappers who work with him. He said his formally reliable Jaguar is playing up, and he’s looking for a mechanic.” When Rey looked nonplussed, he added: “That’s you, Rey. You’re the mechanic. He wants you kidnapped and delivered to him alive.”

“Yes, I understood the message,” she rolled her eyes. “But I’m not going anywhere. I don’t have a passport!” There. They couldn’t go. 

“You won’t need one. We’re not flying commercial,” Giulia assured her.

Apparently she was crying out her anger and frustratioin, because Finn was mopping up her tears with a tissue. “It’s all going to be okay, Rey,” Leia said emphatically. “Your house will still be here waiting. Han, Chewie, Luke and I… we’ll take care of everything.”

With that, Leia stood and opened a small suitcase that she must have bought for Rey. She took some folded clothes from Rey’s dresser drawers and then moved to gather up some cosmetics from the bathroom. Rey watched, fascinated by the thought that her life, which had seemed as big as this shocking house, could still so easily be reduced into a container the size of her battered old rucksack.

Ray sat unmoving and hardly breathing on the bed as Giulia and Leia flitted about her room, gathering up what they deemed necessary. From his spot next to her on the bed, Finn gripped her hand. “Rey? This is just temporary, you know? You’ll be back here just as soon as Ben can fix this…”

Rey narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Ben’s gonna fix this? I’ve moved three times already since Ben reappeared in my life. And I admit that my accommodation has definitely gone up by several social classes, but my life wasn’t in danger before. The baby’s life wasn’t in danger. Not such a great trade-off for a posher post code.”

Finn gave her another hug. “I know, I know. But this is your home now, and you will be coming back to it.”

Rey sighed. She’d come to love this house as much as she’d allow herself to. She was used to being uprooted at short notice – that had been her whole childhood – but she’d hoped that the sodding astronomical expense of this place would somehow render it impervious to her bad luck. She rolled herself back into a sitting position and stood up. “Very well,” she reached for her trusty rucksack and dropped in the essentials – her purse and a few hair ties, her phone charger and phone. She hovered over a pair of sunglasses: “Where are we going anyway?”

Giulia patted her arm and led her down the stairs. “Sicilia, cara. Where else?”


	30. Il Villaggio della Madrina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, everyone.

Rey had thought that the view from her bedroom window in London couldn’t be beat: the mature trees, trimmed lawn and herbaceous borders of a perfectly ordered English garden. One look out the window of the house that Giulia had huddled her into last night, and she knew that she had it wrong. From her perch on the third floor, up a steep hillside covered in groves of olives and oranges and lemons, Rey could see clear out to the Tyrrhenian Sea far below and miles off. This early in the Spring, the land fell soft green and cool all the way to the beach.

She let herself out onto a little balcony to one side of the room and leaned on the wrought-iron railing. Below her shaded alleyways snaked in every direction off a small square, cluttered with shops and a cafe. Just to the right, lower down the hill, the bell tower of a small, stone church rose almost level with her room. She laughed at seeing a Smart car roll into the square from a street she wouldn’t have thought could contain it; its tyres squelched over the cobbles and rattled it round into another impossibly small lane.

Leaning against the plain fountain in the middle of the square were three men - neatly dressed, maybe a bit older than Rey - refilling sport bottles under the steady stream of water. All three had already clocked her before she noticed them; they weren’t staring, but they looked up occasionally. Two more men emerged from the café, one still chewing on the last of his croissant, and joined the three by the fountain. No one was visibly armed, but at the same time they obviously were. Guns were tucked into the backs of belted trousers, hidden under pressed linen jackets, or carried in concealed holsters at their shoulders.

With a last, deep inhale of the warm, foreign air, Rey turned around and examined her room. Faded, soft, clean sheets and a crocheted blanket covered the antique bed; there was a tile-topped, iron writing table alongside a bulky Ikea wardrobe, which looked entirely out of place. Another set of French doors gave onto a wide roof terrace mostly given over to drying laundry. She decided that there was little point in sticking too closely to the doctor’s orders; last night had been her first time ever on an airplane and if that hadn’t freaked her into early labour, then a wander downstairs in what appeared to be a heavily guarded house likely wouldn’t tip her over the edge. Her floor appeared to contain only her bedroom, a small bathroom, and the roof terrace.

The narrow wooden staircase groaned accusingly under her bare feet, the walls adorned with photos of Giulia and her children and grandchildren. Rey stopped for a moment in front of a photo of a young Giulia, maybe even younger than Rey was now, next to a tall, sinfully handsome man in a very sharp suit: this must be Peppe. Continuing down, she peered around corners and doorways, but there was no one on the second floor, or the first, so she carried on to the ground level. It contained a spacious, breezy living room with an enormous, heavy wooden dining table to one side. She followed the chatter of voices through the open doorway to a kitchen at the back of the house.

“Rey!” Giulia smiled from her spot on a stool at a rickety table in the centre of chaos. A man and three women were busy cooking, near tripping over each other in the crowded room, and a small boy set a basket of pastries down on the table next to Giulia. Gesturing to the seat next to her, Giulia asked how she’d slept and added: “Would you like a coffee?”

Before she could even begin to form an answer, a tiny, steaming cup of very dark coffee appeared before her, along with a chipped porcelain sugar dish. Giulia nudged the basket toward her; it overflowed with brioche and simple, sugared donuts. A glass of orange juice was plonked beside her expresso; someone tucked a pair of slippers next to her bare feet and nudged her to put them on. Now and again, men and women wandered into the kitchen through a double door that led to the street, depositing empty cups and picking up donuts before disappearing again towards the square. They all made a point of stealing looks at Rey, who was starting to wish she’d done more than throw on jeans and Ben’s t-shirt. She hadn’t even brushed her hair.

Giulia looked impeccable, as always, even with an apron covering her silky shirtdress. So Rey took no offense when she was handed a laundry basket full of tidily folded maternity clothing appropriate for the weather, borrowed from friends and relations in the area.

“Ben is my figlioccio, my godson, so you are family here,” Giulia explained. “But you are also Kylo Ren’s fidanzata, and that position comes with a certain suspicion and a lot of respect. The word is out that Kylo has overthrown Snoke, so alliances are shifting. That’s always a dangerous moment.” She took Rey’s hand. “When things are tough, we need our families. So here we are.”

They finished breakfast and Giulia led her for a little walk around the town. It clung the upper parts of a hill above a small bay and was crowded with people going about their business. The alleyways were crammed with shops and bakeries and fishmongers and restaurants that were little more than plain chairs and tables beneath battered awnings. Everyone stopped to look at Rey, and if she turned her head once she’d passed by, she could see them talking to each other about her, shouting the news of her up to people in the flats on the first and second floors.

“In the UK, Han and Leia hire security guards, and they’re good, and they do their jobs. But here, our guards are our family. It’s dedication to the cause that money can’t buy. And sheer numbers. And a village around us that knows better than to talk to the wrong people.” Giulia sighed as a teenaged girl stopped in the middle of the road to yell up to her grandmother on an upper balcony, describing Rey’s clothing and hair in great detail. “They don’t know when to shut up among themselves, though.”

“Is this where you grew up?”

“Me? No, no. My little village is about 20 miles inland. This was my Peppe’s town. I know it must look a little decayed to you, but look around – new cobbles on the roads, satellite dishes on the rooftops, shops selling Prada, people hard at work, everyone in new clothes – this town has money. And my Peppe is why. Even after he ‘got out’ and moved to the UK, he and Han would still come back here, they’d still run jobs for the town.”

A boy of maybe 10 years old ran up to Rey with a clutch of white daisies for her, and he directed a card into Giulia’s hand along with a long explanation delivered from memory. “He says that his auntie is an obstetrician in Palermo, but his mother says she’ll send for her to come up here. Discretely. They’re scared to leave Kylo Ren’s fidanzata and baby to a local midwife.” Giulia shrugged. “He’s carved out a reputation in Russia over the last month. The tales get built up and soon they’re worried that the devil himself is on his way to own. But he’s their devil, so it’s okay.”

Rey frowned. “Why do they think that Ben’s the devil?”

“Mia cara, if Ben wants out, if he truly wants to be free of this, he needs to be someone so otherworldy evil that no one will ever come for him or for his, even again. You saw the photos, of Hux…” The photos of Hux still pricked at Rey’s memory, and even though she’d been grateful to Rose for the honesty of them, she found it hard to take in. “It’s already a slang verb here, what Ben did to his law partner. Huxare, means something like mutilate vengefully.”

They walked on slowly, gently uphill, until they came to a place where the alleys opened up and spilled into a wide piazza in front of a sparking, white marble church. They’d reached the top of the town, and from this vantage point, Rey could see for miles in every direction. “Wow,” she walked around the edge of the piazza, “it can’t be easy to sneak up on this place.”

“Not if we’re watching,” Giulia nodded, “and we are.” She gestured to the church tower, where two men sat on the sills of the Roman windows, keeping watch to the east and west. “I just wanted you to understand, Rey, that everyone here is looking out for you.”

…

Within a week, Rey had picked up enough Italian to make herself understood in simple but important matters, like saying that she’d had enough food. She never needed to say that she was hungry, because a plate of food was always put in front of her well before she had a chance to become hungry. She had also started to really feel the weight of the baby. The ob-gyn from Palermo had concurred with the doctor in London that it was best if Rey didn’t push herself too hard and rested whenever possible, but she didn’t think that strict bedrest was necessary. She explained, in flawless English, that the baby was large, and Rey rather small, but still it would be best not to risk labour before 38 weeks.

As Giulia wanted to visit people in town, Rey insisted on coming along. If these people planned to protect her from whatever evil was coming for her, she felt that she should get to know them. So she went from house to house, from flat to flat, drinking sparkling water and memorising everyone’s names, finding out about their jobs and children. About their problems.

That was how she found herself sitting on three-legged camping stool, wrist-deep in a stunning, mint green Vespa GS160 with a faulty fuel intake. And steering. And one tyre that did not fit properly and had never been any part of Vespa’s plan for this scooter. She’d mended Fiats and Smart Cars and even a few push bikes over the last few days, happy to be useful to the townspeople.

Marco, who had inherited the Vespa from his father, was ‘helping’ by handing her (the wrong) tools and chattering away, partly in secondary school English and mostly in a language she didn’t understand. She’d replaced the fuel valve – simple enough – and was just about to try and explain the need for a new tyre when a shout came from somewhere down the hill. More shouts followed, and a group of perhaps eight men, moving fast, swarmed her so fast that she didn’t even have a chance to stand up under her own power before they were hustling her across the narrow street and up a flight of stairs. In their habitual hats and linen jackets, Rey didn’t recognise the men at first as some of the sons and brothers she’d met on her house-to-house visits.

One of the younger men, about her age, spoke enough English to explain that she needed to wait here. She remembered his father serving her a particularly large portion of lemon pasta with basil; the son’s name was Leo. The men were withdrawing all those hidden guns from their holsters, shuttering the windows of the flat, moving quietly and efficiently. “No worry,” Leo reassured her. “We kill a man already. Two more. No worry.”

Rey took a deep breath; Marco patted her hand. In the quiet of the room, he told her: “We spotted three men entering town – Italians, but not Sicilians. Sounded northern. Adriana from the bakery at the entrance to town, she sent out the alarm. Her mamma shot one of them.”

It took less than 30 minutes for the other two men to be found, and Rey understood that they hadn’t been killed but were being ‘questioned’. For the second time that day, she had visions of Hux.

Another group of men and women arrived at the door to escort Rey back to Giulia’s house. As they entered through the kitchen, Giulia greeted her with hugs and kisses. “We have them all, cara, do not worry.” Rey was very much starting to worry, given how emphatically she was being reminded not to do so. “They said that Snoke didn’t know that you were here; it was an educated guess. I suspect that now he knows for certain. They had ample time to send a message.”

Fabulous, now the worst of the worst knew right where to find her. And she was way too big to run. Bollocks. She knew that she should have run right after the first knife attack. And really, certainly after the second attack. What was she doing, waiting for the man who wanted her dead to finally get lucky?

A woman with a handgun tucked into an apron pocket set a bowl of soup before Rey, so she ate, thinking all the while about she could get herself out of this situation.

…

Snoke’s next emissary managed to come much closer – two houses away from the one Giulia owned on the little piazza. He’d crawled through the dirt of the olive groves, low like a snake, until he reached a building at the far bottom end of town. Then he’d carefully leapt and scaled from roof to roof, twisting up the hillside buildings, until he made it to a row of shops and flats that led to Giulia’s piazza. Fortunately for Rey, a young woman had been sequestered in one of the shadowy alleys off the square, and she’d spotted the figure moving across the rooftops. Helping herself to the gun tucked into her boyfriend’s trousers, she’d managed a clean shot to top of the building. The assassin’s body had tumbled from the roof and landed in the street with a sickening squelch.

The whole town went on alert after that, with patrols working shifts around the clock.

Two days after the last attempt, Leo parked his ancient Fiat outside the Amata house; he, Marco and two of their friends had to push it through the streets to get there, as the engine wouldn’t turn over. Rey smiled to herself; it was another 500, much like Giulia’s little Peppenuzzo, and it needed her help. A group working together got the engine block out, and Rey set to work, in her element to be tinkering with an old car again. Leo and Marco were always nearby, with the excuse that they spoke passable English.

They’d covered up the engine with an old oil cloth for the night when the first shouts came from the upper end of town, near the church at the summit of the hill. “Francesi! Francesi!” yelled a boy who’d been sent scurrying down the hill by a patrol.

The men and women who had been sitting around chatting with one another in the piazza now rushed to surround Rey and steer her into the Amata house. Leo stilled her with a hand on her arm, pulling as the crowd pushed.

“There are French men coming this way,” he said, a determined look on his face.

Rey only shrugged, confused. “French men? Is that bad? They all want me to hide.” The crowd was already jostling her toward the door to Giulia’s kitchen, and when they rounded the corner of the piazza to the street that gave onto the back entrance to the Amata house, Rey had a clear view up the hill towards the church. She could see an army of men – large, scowling men with automatic weapons slung across their backs, men who looked hardened and aggressive – pushing the Italians out of their way as they barrelled down the hill. Towards her.

She couldn’t outrun them. If she went into the house, it would only endanger Giulia and her household; it would endanger Leo and Marco and all of the people who had helped her. So Rey stood firm, refusing to let the Italians shift her from this spot. Whatever this was, she would meet it head on.

The swarm of French thugs were on them in minutes, taking up the whole street and all of its oxygen. One at the front, a man who looked as broad as he was tall, stopped his troop with a single gesture and yelled: “Il ne veut que le mecanicien. Lequel est-elle?” No one moved or breathed, the crowd understanding at once that they were outnumbered and outgunned. Rey thrust her chin forward and marched up the front of the crowd, which kept trying to grab onto her clothes and pull her back. The French giant noticed her, his eyes skimming her form, and he reached out to grip her arm and drag her close. He turned and yelled back into the menacing horde behind him: “We have her!” As soon as the Frenchman had reached for her, the Italians had drawn their weapons, too.

She tried not to panic, but all she could feel was the adrenaline rushing through her body, every sound clear and precise. It was the same feeling she’d had when she was attacked with a knife in her flat, long ago and far away in London. On the street above, she could feel the crowd of men parting, their weapons at the ready, making way for someone to come through. God, had Snoke himself travelled here to witness her death?

A smart suit. A watch worth more money than a mechanic could earn in a year. And a perfectly tousled head of hair that looked elegantly styled despite the heat and dust.

Ben. 

…

Ben was glad to see about a dozen weapons trained on him. It meant that this town had taken Rey into its considerable heart and was protecting her, even from him. Not one of the men and women aiming for his head and heart lowered their guns by an inch, not until Rey broke into a spontaneous and brilliant smile and threw herself at him.

He waited for her to come to him, not trusting that some jumped-up mafioso might shoot anyway if they though he was a threat.

He hadn’t known how she would react, but her relief and happiness couldn’t be anything but genuine, coming from her.

Fuck. She had grown, or rather the baby had. A lot. Rey had a little softness about her now, her roundness a bit more uniform, as he skimmed his hands over her back and up to her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. He wanted more than anything to run his hands over her arse, now gloriously fuller, but with more than a hundred pairs of eyes on them, he refrained. He pressed a chaste kiss to her hair. 

She was wearing a grey, silky dress that clung low across her chest, offering a mouthwatering view of her cleavage. She had on a pair of comfortable-looking sandals that were still too small for her swollen feet, and he wanted to sweep her up into his arms, find a comfortable place to sit down, put her legs across his lap, and give her a massage. The entire outfit was smeared with motor oil. She’d managed to streak some through her messy pony tail; she smelled of sweat, dirt and engine grease. She was currently transferring all of that to his suit. She looked like perfection.

“Buena sera, zia,” he called to Giulia, who had made her way to the front of the crowd of Italians.

“Beniamino,” she acknowledged him, her wary eyes on the troop of French gangsters behind him. “Benvenuto. I guess we’ll need to find some space for your… what exactly is this?”

“Just a few associates, nothing to concern you or your town. Only here to help.” His shirt front felt a little wet. Either he had indeed been shot or stabbed and hadn’t noticed, or Rey was crying. Either way, he would prefer to be inside, away from prying eyes when he investigated. “Aren’t you going to invite me in, zia?”

Giulia raised an eyebrow. “Like inviting a vampire over your doorstep,” she muttered at him. “Come in, then.” She turned on a sigh and made her way through an unassuming doorway; he remembered it from his childhood. Han had brought him here to visit his godparents when he wasn’t in school, and each summer he had spent time swimming in the cove below the town. 

He followed Giulia into the familiar kitchen, only slightly updated in the decade since he’d last set foot in Sicily. It was the aroma of some of his best childhood memories, before he’d fallen out with Han and Luke, before Snoke had wormed his way into Ben’s mind.

“So am I finding space to house every gangster in Paris, now?” Giulia asked, ushering Ben onto the sofa in the living room. Having gained control of herself, Rey sat as far away as she could manage.

“Marseilles, not Paris,” he answered. “And some of them are Russian. I’ll need a room in this house for Dominik, and I would appreciate staying here as well, zia. If you’ll have me.”

Giulia flitted a look across to Rey, who was staring at him with a slightly dazed look on her face. “Very well,” his godmother stood. “I’ll go and make arrangements. You’ll need to call a meeting, tomorrow at the latest, to reassure the town.”

“I’m not a stranger to this town. They know me here.”

“Not anymore, Ben. It’s been a very long time.”

And so, as Giulia shut the door that connected the living room to the kitchen, Ben found himself alone with Rey for the first time in weeks. He didn’t waste time, just crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside her chair, laying his head on her lap, hoping that she would thread her fingers into his hair just as she had that last night in London. For long minutes, nothing happened. She didn’t touch him nor shove him away. She didn’t speak. When at last he brought his arms up to circle her middle, she sat completely still. With his forehead against her belly, he could feel gentle presses and pushes from the baby.

“I’m not looking up,” he began, his eyes closed. “I don’t want to know if you’re crying. If I’m making you cry again.” For several more minutes, she didn’t respond.

“What am I supposed to think, Ben?” Rey asked, finally. “What am I supposed to feel?” She still wasn’t touching him. “You’ve brought a sodding army of monsters to, what, protect me from another monster? I don’t even know if you’re…” She stopped mid-sentence, simply falling silent again.

“A monster,” he finished for her. “You don’t know if I’m a monster.”

With her hand against his head, Rey started jostling him to the side, and she slid down onto the floor with him, finding his hand and gripping it tight in both of hers. Their legs crumpled to the side, they leaned into each other, but Ben avoided her eyes, letting his hair block her view of his face. “You have done some monstrous things, Ben. You propped up Snoke’s murderous businesses for years and, I suspect, you’re now doing some of that murdering yourself.”

“These aren’t good people, Rey. Child molesters, human traffickers… I have set hundreds of trafficked girls and women free since I started working for Snoke.”

“So now you’re basically the police,” she deadpanned, voice flat.

“I’m not saying that.”

“You kinda are.” Rey sighed, bringing her hands up to his face to force him to look at her. “And it’s rather hard to tell from this angle, Ben, whether you’re trying to force Snoke out and free yourself, or whether you’re trying to force Snoke out to take his place.”

“Rey, please, you can’t think that of me. I swear to you, this is my way out… I have a plan… I can explain it to you if you just listen…”

She cut him off by pressing her mouth to his. When he’d stilled in shock, Rey took over: “You came back.”

“What?” He nipped in for another kiss, done with the conversation if kissing was a viable alternative.

“You said that you’d come back for me. You have. I mean, you have come here for me, haven’t you?” She suddenly looked like an awful, and utterly mistaken, realisation was dawning on her.

“Rey, of course I came back for you.” How could she think that he might not come back for her? Maybe she thought that he’d been certain to be killed?

She seemed to light up from the inside, just as she always did when she was happy. “You kept your word.” Her face was so close to his that her smile took up his whole field of vision. “You haven’t left us.” She was kissing him again, letting herself be pulled against his body, one of his hands on the back of her neck and the other on her hip. He couldn’t feel her hipbone as easily as before; whatever Giulia was feeding her seemed to be working. It was the first time he’d seen Rey looking something other than ever-so-slightly underfed.

They both curved around her belly, kissing; she stroked his face, his shoulders, his chest, and he pulled her legs over his, trying to work himself as close to her as possible. Outside the doors of Giulia’s house, he could he laughter and shouting as the men he’d brought from France and Russia started drinking with the Sicilians. Dominik must have calmed down the stand-off. Which meant that he could spend as much time in here as he pleased, guiding Rey’s head back to the seat of the armchair, his hand holding her where he wanted her, kissing her deeply and with more force. At one point, there was a knock on the door, and Ben felt reflexively for the gun holstered at his back. But whoever it was caught a blinding telling-off from one of Giulia’s household.

“We should go upstairs,” Rey whispered to him, tugging on his jacket. He grinned and jumped into a crouch, sliding his arms under Rey and lifting her to her feet. “Bloody hell, Ben, I think you’ve gained even more muscle over the last few weeks.” She looked down at herself. “All I’ve done is eat pasta and walk to other houses, where I eat more pasta.”

“It suits you,” he kissed beneath her ear, and as he followed her up the stairs, his hands slid over her arse. “You look beautiful.” She nudged open the door to what has been his room as a child; Giulia was really laying it on thick. “ And besides,” he said fondly, rubbing his thumb over a streak of oil at her hairline, “you’ve not been doing nothing. I can see that you’re still fixing cars.” He kissed her very gently. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“I wasn’t able to get much rest while fleeing London in the middle of the night,” she snarked.

“I’m sorry, I had to get you two out, and this was the safest place I can think of. Peppe and Giulia lived her for years after he got out, waiting for it all to calm down, before they moved to London.” Ben shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of the desk chair. He let Rey take in the shoulder holster and the gun, not shying away from her critical gaze. She walked up to him and unbuckled the strap below his shoulder, and he pulled it away, carefully removing the weapon and setting it on the small table beside her bed.

Ben took her hand and gently tugged her towards the bed. “A doctor saw me the first day that I was here. She said that I was fine but to take it easy, and I have. I go for walks, and I do a very little work on cars.” He sat down on the edge and waited for her to do the same, methodically unbuttoning his shirt. “Mostly, people feed me and I eat.” He encouraged her to lay down then stretched out on his side, facing her. She reached behind him to help herself to a pillow, then another, which she wedged beneath her bump and her head. “I am huge.” To Ben’s surprise, her voice actually broke a little.

“You look beautiful, Rey. Far more beautiful than the day that I met you,” he said. Her dress unfastened at the back, and he let his fingers settle over the buttons, his thumb stroking at the bare skin just above the line of fabric. “Is this okay, if I take off your dress?” He undid the first button, just to test her willingness.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” she breathed. One of her hands was on his chest again, and he sensed that part of her wanted to push him away, though the part that just wanted to feel him up had a stronger hold on her at the moment.

Or maybe she wants to feel your heart beating, a hopeful little part of him whispered. Just like you’re planning to settle your head against her breasts and listen to hers.

He sucked and licked along the line of her dress as he opened each button, tugging it down from her shoulders as he moved along her body. Working one hand behind her back, he unhooked her bra without asking for her permission; she looked nervous. Her breasts filled his palms now.

“They’re bigger now, too,” she sniffled, “but at least that part men like.” Ben wasn’t in any position to argue with her, not with both hands cupped around her luscious, soft tits and his tongue tracing the outline of her aereola. He had liked her body before, but he couldn’t argue that seeing them now, near doubled in size and swollen under his mouth… okay, maybe he had a kink. He’d suspected it at five months and really couldn’t deny it any longer at nearly nine.

“Your body is a revelation, Rey,” he mumbled against her nipple. He let his hands slide beneath her dress, dragging it below her belly. He nearly had his hands on that arse…

“I feel like a whale,” Rey sighed as kissed the underside of her breast. “But men keep staring down my dresses and looking at my arse…”

Ben involuntarily tightened the hand that had made it as far as her thigh, but released it as soon as she gasped. “Sorry,” he pulled the dress free of her and kissed the spot he’d just squeezed. “Men?” he asked, as lightly as he could, his fury warring with his lust. His hands had finally found her arse and simultaneously discovered that she was wearing a black thong slung low on her hips.

“Mmmm,” she ground against him as he pressed his face to her knickers. “Yeah, some of the men in the village, they bring me their cars and scooters to fix, but it’s pretty obvious that they broke them in order to ask me to work on them.” She squirmed against his nose, and he tried to calm his nerves by inhaling the scent of her arousal. “God, Ben, that feels good.”

Dammit. He could round up the offenders later, for now he needed to get these knickers off Rey and lick her clit until she came. He didn’t bother asking her leave to drag away the scrap of a thong, then he set to work, his erection pressed into the mattress while he brought her off. She reached back to hang onto the headboard, breathing out his name at times, bobbing her hips against his mouth. “Ben, more. More, please. Harder, harder…” One hand came down from the headboard to grip his hair. Fuck, he was going to come into the quilt before she even finished. He settled both hands around her belly as she writhed out the final moments of her climb, letting the evidence of how he’d marked her fill his vision, until at last she fell apart with quiet moans and pants.

He shucked off his trousers and pants so fast that Rey hadn’t even opened her eyes again before he was looming over her, naked and ready. “May I…” he dipped two fingers into her cunt, blissfully wet and slick, immediately setting up a rhythm he knew that she liked. “Can I be inside you, Rey?” She nodded enthusiastically.

He leaned back from her body, briefly trying to calculate how he could sink his cock balls-deep in her. “Can you get on your hands and knees?” he wondered, his hands unconsciously already cupping her arse. He had to help her up and off the bed before she could turn around and arrange herself on her knees, fingers gripping the pillows, her belly safely tucked beneath her. “Is this comfortable?”

“God, Ben, just fuck me, I’ll be comfortable when we start shagging… oh.” She dropped her head to the pillows as he pushed inside, the slick warmth so inviting that he thrust all the way home. “Mmmmm, deep, please, Ben, I want it deep,” she muttered. Jesus fucking Christ. He filled his palms with her arse as he rocked against her, not willing to thrust harder, just grinding his hips into the softness of her arse and letting the visual of her round body taking him work him towards his climax. He moved his hands to hold her belly, then her breasts, playing with her nipples while she started to make high-pitches little whines into the mattress.

He finally worked one hand between her spread thighs to find her clit, and he started circling in time to his shallow thrusts. Panting and whining, Rey came, her wet pussy tightening in shock waves against his cock. He moved his hands back to her arse and gripped hard, and he revelled in the last moments of that glorious wet friction on his cockhead, before he let go as well. He lowered his head to mouth at the back of her neck as the final pulses shot into her.

They both tilted over onto their sides, facing each other, and they both immediately gripped the other’s head, kissing deeply, stopping for breath, and then diving back in. Ben felt ravenous for her still. “I won’t leave you, Rey, not ever again. Not if you want me to stay,” he said in a rush. She kissed him again, but Ben wanted a real answer. He steadied her head with a hand at the side of her face. “Do you want me, Rey? Do you want me to stay with you?”

Her eyes on his, Rey swallowed nervously. He waited. His love for her felt overwhelming, but he couldn't tell her, not if she didn't want to be with him. After all he'd done, and all he still had to do.

“I know that I shouldn’t, but I do want you, Ben,” she said at last. "Tonight, before we sleep, you are going to explain to me what’s going on.” She moved faster than he thought she could, swinging up on top of him, pinning him to the bed by his shoulders. “So start talking, Solo. Everything.”


	31. The Beach

“That is not what I’m doing.” He looked sincere, with his wide, pleading eyes. “I am not consolidating power for myself.”

Ben had been explaining himself for nearly half an hour, but Rey found it hard to listen to the worst of it without intervening, and she inevitably sounded distrustful. Still, she didn’t want this to break down into them talking past each other. More than anything, she wanted to believe him, to just let go and trust him.

She had his shirt on, buttoned over her breasts and open over her tummy, and a pair of sleep shorts, and she’d forced him to put on a pair of boxer briefs. She refused to listen to the horrific accounts of brutal killings while naked. Rey brushed his hair away from his face, and he caught her hand and kissed every finger one by one.

“The whole idea is to break down Snoke’s authority, let the various parts of the business negotiate with each other, stamp out the human trafficking. Dominik will have most of the authority. Maks has been in Poland and is now in Ukraine. Dominik and I brought those French and Russians here so that they could talk with the Sicilians.” He was kissing up her arm now, but she pulled it out of his grasp.

“None of that. I’m here,” she waved her hand around the room, “and not in my house in London, because of you.”

Ben looked stricken, but nodded. “Yes, I’m so sorry…”

She held up a hand for him to stop. “I have a target on my back. Our unborn child has a target on their back. Will this stop it? Will we be able to move to London and walk to the park and push the baby in a swing and go to work and come home – without bodyguards and without fear?”

“I am trying, Rey, I am trying so hard to make that happen. I’m in deeper than Dad or Peppe were. I know that I made some truly fucked-up decisions…”

“Please don’t get side-tracked with regret, Ben, it’s not going to make anything better.” She propped her arm up on one of the pillows that Ben had tucked around her, to make it easier to lie on her side, facing him.

“All of this – the trips to Russia, and France, and here – it’s all about making sure that once Snoke is out of the way, I can step aside. Dominik and Maks are like family – no! not in a Godfather sort of way, I see what you’re thinking – I mean, they have been in my life since I was a child. I’ve spent time in their summer dachas in the forest.” He’d picked her hand up again and was twining his fingers with hers. She tried to ignore it. “Dad used to fly me around every summer, until I was old enough to pilot the plane – entirely illegally – myself. Well, Dad and Chewie were always there in case I needed help. By the time I could fly legally, I couldn’t even be in the same room with Dad.”

“So you’d all spend the school holidays together in Italy or Russia?”

“No, they’d drop me off, with Giulia and Peppe, before they moved to London, or with Maks’ family. Chewie and Dad would fly off again for ‘work’. And I knew that I was not supposed to mention their work to Mum. I don’t think it was mainly anything illegal – not after I was old enough to remember, anyway – more, I don’t know, favours for old friends, many of which were still involved in organised crime. Like Maks.”

Rey flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, looking for answers. “What about your Mum? And Poe and Rose – their investigation?”

Ben sat up now, crossing his legs beneath him to face her. “Rey, they have a lot of evidence. Enough, I think, even without resorting to me as a witness. But I won’t lie to you… me doing some time in prison is not out of the question. Luke is very good, but…” he sighed, “I just want you to know what might happen.”

Rey let him help her up so that she could sit up and face him. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she admitted. “What if we never went back to the UK? We could live somewhere else. We could live here!”

Shaking his head, Ben reached out and laid a hand over the baby. “No, Rey… you have a home in the UK…”

“I don’t… not really… I could sell the house…”

“You do, Rey. The house, a city that you know, where you speak the language, you’ve already started your automotive engineering course. My parents are there to help with the baby, Chewie, Luke, Maz, Finn… you do have a life there. And even if we did move here, what sort of future is that, never being able to leave Sicily in case Interpol catches up to us?”

Rey sniffed and the words were out before she could call them back: “I just don’t want to lose you…”

Ben’s eyes flew open, and he inhaled sharply. They both stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before he was able to force out a response: “I don’t want to lose you, either, Rey. I love you.”

In Rey’s imagining of finally hearing someone speak those words to her, she’d not imagined the instinct to analyse the speaker for sincerity. She’d assumed that whoever was saying it would truly love her, and she would believe it, and she would love them back. Obviously. Because she would love this person without end, like she loved the baby already.

Maz had warned her. When Rey had admitted never hearing the words, Maz had spent two sessions drawing out Rey’s perception of love as unchangeable and unconditional, and she’d tried to set her straight. Not every love was like parents had for their children, or usually had. She couldn’t find the love she’d missed out on with her parents; the love she found would likely be more conditional and potentially finite.

Maybe if she heard it a second time?

“I think. I…,” she sniffled again. “I think I need you to repeat that.”

Ben grinned, leaned over her bump and pressed a long kiss to her lips. “I said: I love you.”

Yup, that felt… wonderful. Light. Warm. Safe.

“I love you, too, Ben,” she said, and it felt completely right.

…

Ben had always liked this shower: it’s rich yellows and blues and greens, the little window opposite the shower head that opened to reveal the hills beyond the village, and its wide, tiled bench seat at the far end of the large rectangle. His younger self had traced the patterns of these tiles with his fingers, following the swirls of and dips of the stylised flowers, birds and leaves until the water had begun to run cold and he’d been left shivering while he tried to get the last of the sand out of his hair. Now he followed the blue and white lines with his eyes, concentrating on them, trying to stave off his orgasm as he pumped tirelessly into Rey. She was bent over in front of him and hanging onto the thick, oak windowsill with one hand while the other pressed into the Moroccan tiles. His own hand covered hers, his fingers twisted around hers as he tried his bloody fucking best to give her everything that she asked him for. His free hand was rubbing hard, careful circles just above the place where he thrust over and over and over into her tight warmth. He’d switched off the water a good 10 minutes ago, knowing that it would be worse to let it run cold, but he was working up a good sweat. Near-incoherent, Rey made high-pitched noises of pleasure every time he drove into her – not too deep, not too hard –and she was a goddess.

He loved her. He loved her loved her loved her loved her, oh, fuck… he was pretty sure he’d said at least some of those out loud, because her response was instantaneous: she was saying it back to him, and she was coming hard. He was coming, she was coming, oh, fuck. The noises she made, the little drawn-out moan of his name, his guttural moan of hers. She was so beautiful. He brain felt blank and sated, his senses only able to take in Rey’s satisfied panting, her curves under his palms, her soft skin as he helped her stand up straight. As she kissed his chest and neck, he turned the warm water back and they just stood under the spray and stroked each other.

Three days since he had arrived in Sicily, and they could not stop touching. Downstairs at breakfast, he moved his chair closer to her so that he could hook his foot around her ankle under the table while they ate. On the wide sofa in Giulia’s living room, she sat nearly in his lap, even though half a dozen townspeople had turned up for aperitivi and gossip and no one else had chosen to share the sofa with them. The minute any given space was cleared of people other than just them, they turned to each other instinctively to kiss. He didn’t think he’d let go of her hand for more than a few brief, necessary minutes in days.

He wouldn’t let her anywhere near the meeting with Dominik, the French and the Sicilians; she needed to stay at separate from the business as she could. He doubted that anyone would seriously try to take her house in London from her, but he didn’t want to take a chance and have any prosecutors claim that she knew what was going on.

But she did know. She knew everything, or at least the broad brushstrokes of everything, and she hadn’t thrown him out.

Other than that first night and the shower, they hadn’t been having sex. And though Ben would have happily fucked her again and again, she really wasn’t in any physical condition for it. He could see that her body hurt now, as she moved in carefully premeditated steps up and down the stairs, or adjusted her shoulders and rubbed at her lower back. Anywhere they went, anytime she entered a room, someone Sicilian or French or Russian would rush to find her somewhere to sit, offer her cushions, fetch a footstool.

The obstetrician from Palermo came by the house to check on Rey that fourth morning. With Rey’s permission, Ben sat next to Rey as she lay down on the bed to let the doctor have a look between her legs. Not that he could see anything with a sheet draped strategically over her lap. His hand was rhythmically gripping hers, until the doctor looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Shall I check your blood pressure, as well? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“How are they doing?”

“Nothing to worry about, but I think you have a few days to go, at least Rey. No more contractions, right?”

Rey shook her head. “No, nothing. Even the baby seems a little quieter.”

The doctor snapped off her gloves and patted Rey’s sheet-covered knee. “Well, there’s less room to move in there now, so you should still feel regular movements, but less of the gymnastics.”

Ben spoke up: “She’s hurting. And not sleeping very well.”

The doctor made sympathetic noises. “I know, these last couple of weeks are very hard. Try to take naps during the day, and you might try swimming – it will take the weight off of your body for a bit.”

As soon as the doctor left, Ben asked Giulia if she could find swimming costume for Rey. And by early afternoon, he had Rey and a well-stocked picnic basket strapped into a red Fiat 124 Spider with the top down, winding down the hillside toward the beach.

Rey was practically vibrating with excitement; he remembered her saying that she’d never been to the seaside, and she was hanging over the passenger-side door, watching the coastline speed past her eyes. He parked just off the coastal road and helped Rey wiggle out of the car, then twined his fingers with hers and led her down the path to the beach. The moment they reached sand, she toed off her trainers and rubbed her feet across the warm sand with a contented sigh. No one else was there, not at this time of year, months before the Italian beach season began. But it was a warm, sunny afternoon and the water temperature wasn’t too cold, in his experience. He dropped the basket and a thick, cotton blanket on the sand and started stripping off his clothes. Once he was down to his swimming trunks, he wrestled Rey’s thick jersey dress over her head as she laughed. The bikini she was wearing stunned Ben into temporary silence.

“Do you think we should shag before the swim?” he asked with a grin, reaching his hands out to touch her breasts. She shook her head and smiled, but didn’t swat his hands away as he caressed her.

“I thought this was some sort of a therapeutic swim?” she reminded him.

He hummed an absent-minded agreement while rubbing his fingers down her back and kissing her neck. “It is. The bikini is tempting, though.”

If he’d thought she might be worried about getting in the water, he was dead wrong. She shook free and took off at a speed-waddle, splashing into the calm water of the cove with confidence until she waded about 15 metres out, and the land dropped away beneath her feet. She fell like a rock beneath the surface, not even time to shout. He was behind her in a moment, dragging her above the surface and back a metre towards the beach, where she could stand with the water just above her belly. He used both hands to brush the water and hair from her face.

“Rey, my love, you still can’t swim,” he laughed, holding her close. She felt wonderfully warm in the cold water.

“I know that!” she shoved him away. “I just didn’t realise it would get so deep, so fast.”

He led her over toward the far west side of the cove, where her knew from summers past that the land stayed a fairly reliable metre deep with the tide at this height.

“Here, just lie back…”

“Are you trying to molest me again, sir?” she batted her lashes.

“Maybe a little,” he conceded. “But I’ll help you float, like I did in the pool, remember?” He dropped to a crouch and held her gently, so that she could float on the water.

“I like the waves,” she grinned, bobbing up and down with the water. The ‘waves’ were nothing but gentle swells that passed beneath her before they curled a few centimetres high, directly onto the beach, but he didn’t correct her. He’d chosen this cove because it was secluded, but also because he knew the water to be gentle and calm.

He kept one hand beneath her lower back and another under her neck. “How does it feel?”

She closed her eyes and let the movement of the sea rock her against his hands. “Cold, but not too cold, and relaxing,” she smiled. She stretched her arms and then her legs through the water. He held her hands to move her into deeper water to learn to tread water, and she loved that – exercise that didn’t put any stress on her body. Ben liked her clinging to his shoulders to practise kicking out behind her. Then she flipped onto her back again and he guided her through the water, both of her hands in his, while she kicked wildly.

“This is glorious,” she shouted to the sky, splashing up a storm, and Ben could honestly not remember when he’d been so happy.

“I’ll bring you down here everyday until the baby is born,” he promised, leaning in for a salty, wet kiss.

When the cold started to seep in, he retreated to the beach, scouring the shoreline for bits of wood to make a fire. Rey stayed in the water, knee-deep, flipping water out towards the horizon with her feet, mindless of the cold. He handed her a bright towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, kissing her again. By the time he’d improvised a fire ring and spread their blanket out by the smoky blaze, the sun was starting to dip towards the sea.

Rey dropped gingerly to her knees on the blanket, scattering sand everywhere, towel still half-wrapped around her wet hair. “What’s in the basket?” she nosed, going on all fours for a closer look. Her breasts swayed temptingly close to Ben, so he let himself lick across her cleavage.

“Salty… very nice,” he smirked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Stop it, there’s food here, it’s serious business. What did Giulia pack?”

“There’s arancini – still a bit warm,” he said, pulling food from the basket. Rey was already chewing her way through a hefty, gooey risotto ball before the next offering hit the blanket. “You realise this is to share, right? Looks like some cold pesto frittata – it’s Giulia’s picnic speciality. Green salad, tomatoes, sesame seed bread…” He looked up to see Rey licking her fingers, both arancini already gone.

“Bread please,” she said, holding out an expectant hand.

“There are plates, you know,” he huffed, and he handed her one. “Have some salad…”

“The baby wants bread. Did she send cannoli?”

“No cannoli until you’ve eaten your salad.”

“Wanker,” she sniffed. “I see what sort of parent you’re going to be.”

Ben piled salad and tomatoes and grilled courgettes onto her plate. “What sort of parent am I going to be?” He tried to keep his voice light, but he was genuinely curious. He’d not thought much about it; Rey’s pregnancy had been mainly something to protect and only now was he understanding that a small human would be depending on him in only a couple of weeks.

She looked at him, assessing, as she used her fingers to eat the courgette. He handed her a fork. “You’re going to be all into healthy eating and fitness and schoolwork.”

“You don’t think those things are important?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “I do. I’ve no idea what I’ll be like. I’ve not seen a lot of parenting close up. All that stuff about diet and homework – it’s all box-ticking. They had to say that stuff to us, even when they weren’t providing much food or helping with the homework.” Rey looked at him. “You’ll be cooking the food, won’t you? And you’ll help them learn their tables. And learn to swim. You’ll love them.”

“I will, Rey. I’ll love both of you.”

She looked down at her plate as though the tomatoes and bread held the secrets of life. “I’m scared, Ben. Of having the baby. Ever since I found out, I’ve been really scared of dying, leaving him or her all alone…”

“You are not going to die. I will do everything…”

“But I might. It’s a possibility. And if I did, I need to know, Ben. That’s why I put your name down on that form in the midwife’s office all those months ago. That you would love her or him, and tell them all the time that I loved them, too. So they’ll know…”

“I promise, Rey. You’re not going to die, you’re not. But, I promise. And you know that my Mum and Dad, Luke, Giulia… they’ll all love this baby.”

“Good,” she said, brushing away a stray tear. “I’ll haunt the fuck out of you, Ben Solo, if you don’t.”

The fire’s crackle and whisper filled the silence while they ate, Rey staring out to sea, entranced, and Ben staring at Rey. Setting aside a half-finished cannoli, Ben spread out on his side across the blanket, facing the fire, his head propped on one hand. Rey took the hint and snuggled in, facing the fire and beyond it the darkening sea. She snatched up his remaining pastry and laid her head down on his bicep, still eating.

“Should you be eating lying down?”

She kept eating. “I can eat anywhere, anyhow.”

He smiled into the back of her head. “You thought about names yet? For the baby?”

“Not so much,” she said around the last bite of cannoli. “My surname, I suppose. We’re not married.”

Ben felt a little pang at that – he’d rather like the baby to be a Solo, but then again it was a name that he himself had rejected for most of his adult life, and Rey’s name probably made more sense. “You’re welcome to use Solo if you please, I like the thought of you using my family’s name; my parents would love it. But as your lawyer, I’m going to have to advise you against marrying me,” he sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her eyes.

She turned to lie on her back and looked up at him. “You’re not my lawyer. I have one of those, remember?”

“You have someone to do your conveyancing,” he responded, “You need a proper solicitor. At least ask Luke for recommendations…”

“Riiiiiiiight, okay,” she nodded sarcastically, her soft hair rubbing where it rested on his arm. “I’ll ask your uncle to protect my financial interests from… hmmm… you, his nephew.”

“I’ve already protected your financial interests from me,” he answered seriously. “Your house was bought in your name only, from a Cayman Islands account so many convoluted off-shore companies away from me that no one will ever trace the source of the funds.”

Rey looked back at him just as seriously. “I’ve always hated my surname, it never felt like mine. But I think that once the baby has it, too, I’ll like it better. It will be ours.”

Ben leaned down to kiss her. “That sounds about right. But anyway, I meant first names.”

“I know what you meant. I just haven’t thought of any.”

“I, ummm, I was just wondering if you might consider one of my family’s names…”

“This is your baby, too, Ben. You don’t have to ask for permission to suggest a name.”

“My grandfather, Anakin… he was a complicated man. Not a good man, so I can’t suggest that. But Padme – that was my mother’s mum – I’ve always liked that name. She was intelligent, kind, beautiful, brave…”

“Padme,” Rey tried. “It’s a pretty name. Padme Smith. Oh, yuck. Honestly, Smith is going to ruin any exotic name. Rey’s so plain that it works. I need to think about this. What about Han for a boy?”

No, was his gut-level reaction. That felt strongly wrong. “I have had a difficult relationship with my Dad; I don’t think I’d want to say his name to my child every day.”

Rey settled down on his arm, shifting back a little into his body, and closed her eyes. “Fair enough, not Han. And I suppose there’s no need to decide today.” She didn’t pick him up on the ‘every day’ comment; as though she might, perhaps, let him be with them every day. He would not push; he hoped that, by the time they returned to London, it would be unthinkable for him to live any place other than where she and the baby did.

Running his free hand up and down her arm, he felt her shiver. He reached behind them for a spare blanket and threw it haphazardly over their bodies. “Is it too cold? Do you want to head back to the house?” he asked.

Rey kept her eyes closed. “The sand is really comfy – it’s sunk in all the right places and nothing hurts,” she answered around a yawn. “Let’s stay here for a while and just listen, okay?”

Ben balled up his jeans and tucked them under his head. The sun had set, but the spring night was clear and there was little chill to the breeze; they were far enough from Palermo that the night sky looked almost as full of stars as it had when he was a child. He titled his head to the sky, amusing himself by identifying constellations that he hadn’t even noticed since his mother taught them to him years ago. Under the blanket, Rey’s body warmed him as she drifted off to sleep, listening to the ocean. Every so often, Ben could make out shadows and shapes in the treeline surrounding the cove: the men he’d set to keep watch were looking out for them.

He wasn’t about to fall asleep himself, not out in the open with only a minimal patrol keeping them safe, but – with his gun beside him beneath the blanket – he would let Rey have her nap and her ocean lullaby. For the first time in a very long time, Ben didn’t think, didn’t make any lists in his head, didn’t plan the next three moves. He just lay next to Rey and listened to night fall over the beach.


	32. The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even manage to answer all your lovely comments, for which I apologise.

While Dominik caught him up, Ben shifted Rey’s feet across his lap, just enough to stretch some blood back into his legs and lower back. She was snoring intermittently, spread across the whole of the sofa, propped up by pillows. Whenever she couldn’t sleep, Ben knew that bringing her into the living room, with the background noise of daily life filtering through the shutters and her feet resting in his lap, would eventually lull her into extended unconsciousness.

“So the man you shot was one of Snoke’s?” he asked, accepting a cold glass of Grillo from Dominik.

“Definitely. He broke down fast once the Marseille started working him over.” It might be Ben’s imagination, but Dominik seemed to take up more space in a room that he once had. Maybe that was his change in position, or maybe it was just seeing him without his outsized father next to him. “We caught him working in a tabacchi in the town at the base of the hill. He’d looked for work here, but this town is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I interrogated him myself – hope you do not mind.”

“I want you to take over as many of my duties as you can,” Ben leaned forward as much as Rey’s legs would allow. “But I want to be there for any future incidents regarding Rey’s safety.” 

Nodding in acceptance, Dominik handed over some very detailed photos of the interrogation process. “Snoke wants her alive, which is why no one’s succeeded in killing her yet – the previous invasions weren’t assassins, as the Italians assumed. They’re kidnappers, and that’s a lot harder than just aiming a weapon. Especially when your target is heavily guarded and heavily pregnant. The only people willing to take that sort of job are…”

“Desperate,” Ben finished for him. “Suicidal. Dangerous.”

Dominik just inclined his head slightly to his shoulder. “News must be getting around of what happens to anyone who tries. We’ll publicise this,” he nodded at the photos. “Try to scare off anyone tempted by Snoke’s money. But Ven, we know that Snoke is trying desperately to Rey and the baby in the most pain, horrific way possible. A dramatic moment like like the birth is just the opening he’s looking for.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair and some of the sand still stuck there from their early morning trip to the beach fell onto Rey’s thighs. He had taken her to the beach every day for the last week, holding her while she floated and let the saltwater support her tired bones.

Dominik moved on with the agenda: “China’s branching off, and Korea, Japan…”

“We knew that would happen. We’re only trying to secure Europe,” Ben reminded him. “Is Snoke moving on China?”

“He can’t, not without you. Those negotiations were all you, which means the businesses have been tied for four years… which, as you know, is nothing at all over there. But he’s spitting blood at the whole of Asia.”

“Paris?”

“That’s going to require a personal intervention, and right now…” Dominik pointed at Rey, “we’re all waiting. We won’t leave you, brother. Not until the baby is here.”

Ben smiled at Dominik – only 5 years older than Ben, they’d known each other since they were kids – and silently thanked Han Solo’s unparalleled ability to build strong social networks and create an extended family. Ben wanted out, Dominik wanted up, and Dominik and Maks were people whom Ben could trust entirely.

Rey blinked awake at Dominik’s words and tried to sit up. Unable to do it unaided, she reached for Ben to pull her up. But Dominik was quicker, and he wasn’t one to hold back: he moved behind her, grabbed her under both armpits and heaved her up, then stuffed pillows behind her lower back to lever her into position.

Rey’s face flushed red, but Dominik waved away her embarrassment: “I have three children, and my wife couldn’t move with any of them at this point. The second was two weeks late and I had to carry her from the bedroom to the bathroom by the end. I have seen it all, little sister.”

Still blushing, Rey looked unconvinced, but she smiled at Dominik anyway as he threw his bulk into the chair facing them on the sofa.

“You naming that baby Solo?” he asked them.

Ben tried to keep his face blank as Rey rushed in with a correction: “My name’s Smith. We’re using Smith.”

“Smith, huh?” Dominik make a face, and Rey tried to draw herself up taller on the sofa. “You can’t go with Smith. No one will make the association.”

“Association?” Rey asked, lost.

“You know, to Han and Ben. No one’s gonna mess with that child, ever, with all of us behind it.”

Ben struggled to keep from leaping in. He’d thought about this himself, but there was no way to make the argument for Solo without seeming egotistical, or patriarchal, or some other thing that Rey would disapprove of.

“Why don’t you use Organa? Or Skywalker? I mean, Skywalker’s a bit… Anakin and all… but Organa… very prestigious, the Solo connection is clear…” Dominik shrugged.

“I can’t just… use Leia’s name!” Rey’s shocked reply set both Dominik and Ben off. They took one look at each other and burst into laughter. “What?”

Dominik opened his mouth to reply, but Ben held up his hand to stop him. This might go over better if it came from him. “My mother would be honoured if you used her name, Rey,” he said sincerely. “That’s why we’re laughing… you thinking that she might object.”

“Little sister, I have never seen you with Leia, but I can tell that she’d love you. You’re her type all the way to the ground,” Dominik added.

Rey made a noiseless little ‘o’ with her mouth and looked thoughtful, which Dominik seemed to mistake for potential tearfulness. “I can smell someone deep-frying something in the kitchen,” he said.

Rey immediately perked up. “Do you think it’s those little courgette flowers with the anchovies?” She sniffed the air hopefully. “It does smell a bit fishy.”

Dominik offered to go forage for them.

“How are you doing?” Ben squeezed her calf and ran his hand up and down her thigh beneath her skirt.

“Sandy,” she laughed. “You shouldn’t have let me fall asleep here – Giulia’s housekeeper will never get the beach out of this sofa.”

Ben grinned at her, with her slightly sunburnt nose and bikini top peaking from beneath a soft vest top, she looked rested and relaxed. “You were knackered after our swim this morning,” he shrugged. “I’m glad you had a little kip before dinner.”

Rey gazed at him, unblinking, for a few moments, long enough for the silence to be scrutinising, uncomfortable. Finally she leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first, then passionately enough for Ben to feel it in his trousers. When she broke away, she stayed close, and whispered: “I love you, Ben Solo.” Then she hefted herself to her feet and followed Dominik into the kitchen.

…

Ben woke up all at once, alert but immobile, not moving or giving away the fact that he was awake. Not until he could take stock of his surroundings and determine what potential danger had awakened him. A rhythmic, heavy clomping and a few determined breaths was all he could make out, so he cracked open one eye.

Awake and pacing, Rey looked exhausted. Her hair had largely escaped the pink hair tie that was holding a messy bun off her face and neck, and she was fanning herself furiously with a discarded copy of the local paper. She was wearing a pair of his running shorts slung low under her belly and a tight yellow t-shirt with the word ‘Amore’ stretched taut across her breasts in bold, red type.

Ben watched, transfixed, as Rey circled the bed, then walked as close to the perimeter of the room as the furniture allowed, stepped once onto the small balcony over the street, then back into the room, continued out onto the roof terrace, circled the perimeter of that, too, and then finally started all over again by the wardrobe next to the window. He watched her make three complete circuits before he spoke up.

“Rey?” he pushed himself into a sitting position. “You okay?”

“I’m pretty sure that I’m in labour,” she said, not breaking her stride as she unwound and then retwisted her hair into a bun even messier and more fragile than the first.

He looked out the window into the pitch black of night. “You’re in labour?” He felt an electrical charge in his chest, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for his phone, knocking it to the ground. “What time is it?”

Still pacing, she consulted the cheap digital watch on her wrist: “Nearly 3am.”

“How long have you been awake?” He pulled on a pair of trousers that he’d left folded on the floor next to the bed.

“A few hours,” she said. “It started while you were in the shower.”

“In the shower… that was before dinner…”

“Yeah, I wasn’t quite sure then.” She stopped pacing and started breathing deeply in and out, holding tight to the door frame and grimacing. Slowly she straightened back up and let her fingers unclutch. “I’m pretty sure now.”

Ben leapt in front of her, but she shoved him – hard – to one side to continue her circuit of the room. He watched helplessly as she circled him twice more before announcing, as she passed the little balcony, “I need stairs.” Throwing himself at the door to their room, he wrenched it open so that by the time she completed her lap and neared the door, he was standing reading to assist. He knew without being told that she’d want him in front of her, to prevent a fall if she stumbled.

Ben made it down three flights of creaking stairs and back up again – twice in succession – before he was awake enough, clear-headed enough, to realise that they needed to call the doctor. As Rey spun on the top landing to descend again, Ben caught her by the shoulders: “Rey, we need to ring Dr Messina – she’ll need to drive here from Palermo…”

Rey swatted him on the arm. “Move. Walk. Go, go, go. Go!” She was trying to push him out of the way so that she could keep moving. She was not, he then understood, in any position to be thinking of the big picture. Pain or fear or some elemental compulsion had control of all Rey’s senses, and he was going to need to be the one to do logistics. Halfway down the ground floor, Rey stopped him by gripping both of his shoulders. He turned back to her, using one arm to hold her secure to his chest and the other to steady them against the banister. Rey bent over, pressed her face into his chest and breathed in with a gasp, out with a pained whine. When it passed, Ben fumbled open the stopwatch on his phone and hit start. She sank to the stair and sat, now rocking incessantly. _This is not a test, _he mentally slapped himself. _You’ve been reading about this. Do something!_

“Do you know how far apart the contractions are?” he asked, thinking this must be why she was wearing the watch.

“Sometimes 15 minutes, sometimes 10, sometimes in between,” she said. “Sometimes closer together than that.”

“That’s brilliant, Rey, that you’ve been able to keep track.” He kissed her hand. He’d been worried he sounded patronising, but she smiled weakly at his praise. “I’m going to ring Dr Messina now.”

All around him, he heard the house waking up. The lights switched were switched on in the kitchen when they reached the ground floor, and Giulia met them in the living room, already washed and dressed in pressed trousers and a smart blouse. Rey started blazing a path around the perimeter of that room, too, while Ben grabbed his godmother’s hand: “She’s in labour!”

Giulia patted his hand and gently shifted him aside so that they weren’t blocking Rey’s trail. “I know. Everyone knows. We’re making coffee right now.” She steered him to the sofa. “You make your call here. I’m going to take Rey outside to pace the courtyard – it’s cooler out there and she’ll like it.”

Ben caught sight of Dominik coming down the stairs, hopping to get his trousers all the way up, struggling with the belt. When he saw Rey, he called out cheerily: “It’s time, eh, little sister?” He breezed in with a kiss to her cheek as she passed by, heedless. Then he clapped Ben on the back and added, “I’m waking the next shift to start now. I’ll double the guard until the baby is here.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Dr Messina reassured Ben that she’d be out to the house straight away with her team, and that with irregular contractions and the time between them, he needed to keep Rey calm and encourage her to rest as she had a long way to go yet.

“Ben!” Giulia called to him, her head round the doorway to the courtyard. “We need you out here,” his godmother’s tone of voice one of deliberate calm.

“You go, Mr Ren,” the doctor urged. “Stay with her. I’ll be there within an hour.”

From the courtyard, Ben could hear Rey shouting herself hoarse. He ran out over the dim cobbles to find Rey ranting at deeply scarred French thug he’d brought over with him, chosen specifically for his ability to scare the living shit out of hardened criminals. Ben rooted in his memory for the man’s name - Adrien? Andrien? the second one sounded less wrong – whatever it was, half of his face was taken up by a tattoo commemorating an infamous Marseille gun battle between the gangs and the police. The barrel of the inked gun ended on one side of his nose, giving the impression that it was being aimed at you.

Rey, it seemed, had no fear of him: she was beating her fists against his immovable chest, punching him with everything that she had. The top of her mussed head didn’t quite reach the chin of the gangster.

“Let me out of here!” she raged, smacking the flat of her hand against the expanse of his rib cage.

“Mademoiselle, s’il vous plait… I cannot.” When she tried to duck around him, he very gently took hold of her by her elbows and lifted her back in front of him. “This is not good for l’enfant,” he tried to reason. Ben approached carefully from the side, and he saw Andrien’s eyes dart to him.

“Monsieur Ren,” he began nervously. “Elle veut quitter la maison... mais... Dominik a dit...”

“C’est dangereux,” Ben finished. “Yes, thank you for keeping her here.” Ben took Rey’s hand and turned her to face him. “Rey, I’ll walk you around the courtyard…”

“I want out!” she yelled, her face twisted in anger. Then in an instant, it vanished, a wave of pain overtaking her instead. She doubled over, one hand to holding onto Andrien’s wrist and the other to Ben’s. She breathed through it with a desperation that bordered on hyperventilation, and all of the doctor’s words about keeping her calm rushed back. When Rey stood back up, releasing her hold on them, her face crumpled. “Ben, make him let me out. I need to go _out_.”

He pulled her against him, and she needed to turn to one side to fit her face against his shoulder. “Rey, I can’t even imagine the pain…”

“Torturer. You torture people. You want me to suffer,” she hissed.

That hurt deeply, and Ben flinched. “It is not safe for you to walk the streets. And I can’t make this pain stop. Walking won’t stop it. You can’t leave and walk out on labour, Rey.” He stroked his hand over her head and hoped that his heartbeat had settled to a calming rhythm, rather than betraying his own fear. “You can sit down or lie down and rest for a bit. Aren’t you tired?”

When she sank into him and started crying, Ben finally understood the anger that his father had felt all those months ago, when Han had been livid about Rey’s age. She suddenly looked hopelessly young and unprepared. “I am so tired already. And I know how long I have to go…”

“Do you want to stay out here in the courtyard?” he asked, and Rey nodded uncertainly. A huge chaise longue that he’d not seen before was carried into the courtyard, and at last Ben coaxed Rey into resting. Giulia heaped pillows around it, and she and Ben took turns rubbing her feet and back and adjusting her position. Someone found a yoga ball at a neighbour’s home, and Rey bounced gently through a few waves of contractions on that while Ben sat on the chaise and held her hands to steady her.

The doctor arrived just after sunrise, by which time Rey’s contractions were stronger and more regular, though still 8 minutes apart. By midday, time had lost all meaning for him. Rey was focussed entirely on handling the pain, sometimes sucking in Entonox through a black plastic mask that she held like a lifeline.

“Things will become more serious now,” Dr Messina warned him as Rey inhaled the gas and air in panicked gulps. “Easy, easy, Rey,” she soothed, demonstrating how to breathe more slowly. “You’re doing really well.”

It all felt pretty goddamn serious to Ben right now, as it had done since he’d woken up nine hours ago. For another hour, he rested Rey against his chest as she struggled through the bouts of pain, trying to breathe the way the doctor had, slow and steady, so that she could pattern her breathing on his.

Mid-afternoon, Giulia beckoned Ben away, gliding into his vacated position and pointing to the doorway. Ben’s soul sank through the floor. Dominik stood there, his hand scratching at his buzzcut, his foot tapping, a look on his face that Ben did not want to see.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, as Dominik pulled him into the kitchen.

A Sicilian man in an impeccable suit was waiting at the kitchen table. “Mr Ren,” he stumbled over his words. “I am sorry, but as you know we’ve been monitoring air traffic, as you ordered…”

“And?” Ben demanded. “What is it?”

The man took a half step away from Kylo Ren before parting with the news: “An unmarked, unofficial military helicopter has broken away from its agreed flight path. And - I'm sorry, Mr Ren - it’s heading straight toward us.”


	33. The Storm

“A _military_ helicopter? Whose military? Weapons?”

Dominik took over: “It’s a Gazelle, looks like something from the former Yugoslavia – it has a UK registration but that will be bullshit – just so Snoke knows that we know who sent this bastard. Definitely equipped with forward guns. Likely with Bradt 70mm rockets.”

“Possibly with missiles,” the Sicilian added.

“Fuck!” he near-shouted, until Dominik stifled him and pulled him from the kitchen and into the alleyway outside the house. Ben snatched the Italian’s radio from his hand and snapped down the receiver: “Do you have a visual? Is this fucker equipped with missiles?”

“Mr Ren, sir,” a clipped, Russian-accented voice responded. “I have a visual. Two AS.12 wire-guided missiles.”

“Ven,” Dominik tried, “You placed our surface – to – air rockets yourself…”

“You will shoot this son of a bitch down, Dom.” He pressed the button on the radio and demanded: “How long before it’s in range to take a shot at us?”

The Russian didn’t hesitate: “9 minutes at a Gazelle’s top speed, 12 at current pace and path.”

Ben knew that they had exactly two surface-to-air launchers at the outskirts of the village, and one rocket launcher in the wide campanile of the church at the top of the hill. 

“Ven, listen, I have already moved the SAMs into position. They are mobile, if he changes path. We foresaw this possibility, little brother. We are prepared.”

Dammit. Ben looked at his watch and flipped through every possibility in the space of seconds: it was too late to move Rey out of the house; the doctor had been saying that she’d probably be ready to push in an hour or two; Giulia had a wine cellar, substantial enough and deep, dug into the stone of this hill. It might help, but the bitter truth was the not one of them, cellar or no, would survive a direct hit on the house with a missile. 

He ran back into the house with Dominik at his heels. “Giulia!” he called, trying to project calm and authoritative, but probably sounding as panicked as he felt. Giulia brushed a cold cloth over Rey’s head and told her that she’d be right back. As soon as they made the kitchen, he hissed: “Get Rey, the doctor and yourself down into the wine cellar right now. Now.” Giulia didn’t betray an iota of shock, just turned and started gathering up cushions and towels and clean sheets, giving quiet orders to the staff and the doctor, who began heading downstairs.

“You and you and you,” Ben grabbed three teens who had been loitering in the alleyway, trying to pick up on the foreign-language conversation. “Get everyone out of this area – move up the hill, past the church…” The Sicilian was translating as fast as Ben spoke; the teens’ eyes widened in shock, but they ran off to do as they were told.

Eight minutes left.

“When do we have a gun in range?”

Dominik shook his head to silence Ben. “Almost…” he held up his hand. “Less than a minute.”

“Take the first shot as soon you can.”

Rey’s first true screams echoed through the house as they tried to move her. Ben popped his head back into the living room and saw Andrien with his arms full of a seething, thrashing Rey, disappearing down the steep stairs into the wine cellar. The doctor, scurrying after, caught Ben’s eyes across the room.

“Mr Ren, do we really need to…”

“Yes,” he snapped. “Yes,” more softly. “Please, just… keep her safe.”

The doctor considered him for a moment, then she sighed. “I’ll take care of her. But you should be with her, if you can.”

Like he hadn’t fucking thought of that! He could hear the love of his life shrieking now, when she’d been relatively calm and controlled in Giulia’s courtyard not 10 minutes before. Focussed, pained, exhausted… but coping. That wine cellar really amplified the volume of her cries.

Dominik reached over and grabbed Ben’s hand, pulling him into a seat at the kitchen table. He didn’t let go, though, and they both looked at each in barely repressed fear while Dom gave the order to fire. Far in the distance, they could see a faint streak of fire flare through the cloudless sky.

“That’s a miss… no contact… firing again…” came of over the radio, and the only thing that held Ben to his seat was Dom’s arm pulling him down.

In the seconds between the first shot and the second, Ben saw with the vivid clarity of the dying: Rey in her pretty little off-the-shoulder dress, a hint of motor oil under her nails, smiling to herself as she nabbed a little pot of something chocolaty from the passing waiter’s tray. He’d been watching her all evening: fresh and happy and guileless, so out of place in a party seething with sharks. She’d been clever and pure and just the slightest bit hedonistic around the edges; something had told him that if he offered, in the right way, she might spend the night with him. He was good at reading people’s motivations, and she might be persuaded to prolong her night out a little longer; she obviously didn’t get to many parties like this one. A girl with plans and ambitions that had nothing to do with him, or anything illegal, clean as a fresh sheet of paper. He’d wanted her.

And he was going to be her death, one way or the other. Every nerve in his body overloaded with every scream.

“Ven….” Dom was staring at the radio, his jaw tight and expression closed. The radio was silent. “Ven, he took out the first SAM.”

“Then fire from the second!”

“We’re already doing that…” the Sicilian cut in. “We have one, maybe two shots, before he fires on us…”

They all heard the second ground-to-air missile being fired, and it was close enough that they could see they plume of dust from the pick-up truck that the SAM was mounted on. And the fireball when the Gazelle let loose one very precise rocket. Both of their SAMs, gone.

Was it possible to feel your soul die, before anything had actually killed it? Ben put one hand over his heart, and then felt Dom place his hand over it, as well. “Veniamin… go to your Rey. Go be with her…” he had tears in his eyes. The fucking hardest, sharpest edge of the Moscow knife was weeping.

Ben stood, pressed his forehead briefly to Dom’s, and turned to the stairs that would lead him into a tomb. God fucking buggering bastard fate… he could face his own death, fuck but did he deserve it. But his Rey… his _child_. He or she would never even draw breath. He would go to Rey, hold her hand. He would not tell her what was coming: it will be quick. So fast, she’ll never feel the pain of it. The baby, all of them, at least they’d be killed instantly.

His foot reached the first stair when the house started to shake. He stopped moving. Too soon… even at top speed, too soon for the Gazelle…

“Ven!” Dom jumped up, ran into the street at the front of the house dragging Ben, stumbling behind him while the Sicilian ran after them, clutching the radio. From here they could see clear down the valley to the sea. Over their heads, a fighter plane streaked low, way too low, so that it felt like the jet wash might topple the high campanile of the church at the summit of town. It swooped over the house and then turned so sharp Ben’s head had to snap left with the movement.

“I know that flying, Ven,” Dom grinned and shook him, a vice grip on Ben’s arms. “I’d know that fucking pilot anywhere!”

Ben knew it, too…

“Don’t you worry, son. I got this.” His father’s voice sounded strong and clear through the radio over a frequency only Chewie could have found.

The Gazelle had cleared the beach and just start over the valley of olive groves, still short of town. It banked back towards the beach as Han Solo’s Typhoon tracked it. The Gazelle fired one of its precious missiles; Han Solo dodged. Within minutes, the Gazelle pulled round and fired the second at the Typhoon: Han nose-dived nearly into the trees, then pulled up sharp, almost seeming to hover in the sky over the toothless helicopter.

Ben fell to his knees watching the dogfight. “That’s it, short of a suicide run… he can’t take out the house… “ Dom was on his knees next to Ben, both arms thrown around his shoulders. Before he could respond, Han had chased the Gazelle back offshore. And then he fired.

His father was never one to do anything other than win, and this wasn’t even a fair fight. The Gazelle all but disintegrated before it fell harmlessly into the ocean, about a mile offshore.

Ben groped blindly behind him for the radio as they all watched the Typhoon make an elegant, sweeping turn in the general direction of Palermo. “Dad…” he breathed, “Dad, I…”

“Ben. I need to land this thing, and I’m coming up. Chewie’s with me. Giulia tells me that I may have a grandchild when I get there?”

Ben wiped the tears from his face with his fist. “Yeah, Dad, jesuuus. Fuck. Dad, I…”

“Okay, son, it’s okay. I wasn’t going to let the piece of shit Snoke take anything else from this family. Anything else from you.” A small pause, then: “How’s Rey?”

“Rey’s doing amazing, Dad. She’s amazing.”

“You better get back in there, son, and stop talking to your old man. A couple of hours, tops, okay, Ben?”

“Okay. Okay, Dad. I’ll see you soon.” Ben let the radio clatter to the ground, then Dom was pulling him to his feet, shoving him at the stairwell to the wine cellar.

The cellar was bigger than Ben remembered from playing down here as a child: it was a Roman-vaulted cave carved into the volcanic stone of the hillside, cool and calm and dark. The walls were lined with niches, also carved directly into the stone, that were filled with hundreds of bottles of wine. In the middle, Rey was standing in the shaft of light from the stairwell, surrounded by darkness, on top of a mattress diligently covered in pristine white sheets. And some blood. The glass bottles of wine rattled in response to her fury when she let forth a roar of pain. Andrien was on his knees, holding her up with her arm slung over his shoulders, while one of the two midwives took the other side. She was still wearing the ridiculous Amore t-shirt and nothing else.

Then Giulia was pulling Ben away, submerging his hands into a bucket of hot water, scrubbing them raw with a wire brush, towelling them off.

“Rey…” he was still crying apparently, because when he brushed her damp hair from her sweaty face, she looked at him, incredulous…

“What the actual fuck are you crying for? I’m the one… the one, oh my god oh, god. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen,” and she let his name be the scream that echoed off the wine cellar walls, amplifying into a horror that sent him straight back into a panic. The desperate pitch of her voice ripped a hole in his chest. “Ben, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… they won’t listen... I just cannot…”

“Rey!” Dr Messina’s voice was authoritative and encouraging. “You very much can. You’re about ready to start pushing, okay? Just one or two more contractions and we’re ready to go.”

Rey gathered up Ben’s hands in hers and pulled him so close that their noses brushed. He wanted to kiss her beautiful face, but the matter-of-fact desperation in her eyes stopped him cold. “You have to tell them, Ben. You have to tell them. I can’t. Please, Ben, please, help me.” And then she tipped back her head and the pelting sound seemed to come from her belly, frantic and horrified.

There was nothing he could say. Nothing useful. “I love you, Rey,” is what came out. She looked like she wanted to stab him for it. A midwife on Dr Messina’s team shunted him into position, holding up Rey opposite Andrien while the midwife fitted the gas and air over Rey’s nose and mouth.

“Deep breath, good, just like that…” Ben watched as the midwife caught Dr Messina’s eye, and the doctor nodded, smiling. “On the next contraction, I want you to push. Push with everything you have.”

“I have nothing,” she mumbled, quiet, miserable.

“You’re tougher than this, Rey. So strong,” Ben heard himself rambling. “You put all that strength into that push.”

The doctor, who had looked unimpressed with his earlier declaration of love, found this line of chatter more to her liking. “You hear that, Rey? Ben’s here for you, darling, now here it comes, right now, Rey, push!”

Ben had not researched this whole birth thing nearly enough, because he did not understand – not right away – that one push would not do the trick. He had the presence of mind not to ask any questions when the baby didn’t appear after Rey’s monumental effort, or the next push, or the next twenty. Rey thrashed and begged and sobbed and Ben, well, Ben knew torture. This was the worst torture he’d ever seen. Ever, let’s face it, he thought to himself… inflicted. And inflicted it on this beautiful, gentle, hardworking girl. Rey flailed her arms and dislodged a bottle of Primitivo that shattered, fortunately, a metre from the mattress. Giulia squeezed around the bottles to clean away the shards, but the deep red wine ran down to the white sheets on the mattress.

And that’s when Ben really noticed the blood. Because there was, now, a lot of blood. Again, he was something of an informal expert on how much blood a body held. And he was very, very worried.

Dr Messina was down beneath Rey. “Okay, Rey, the head is nearly there, you’re so so close, darling, one more big one, go!”

No screaming this time. Rey seemed to focus everything inward, all her energy, all her lifeforce, all her concentration into this last effort.

Then she went limp in his arms.

“Rey! Perfect. Oh, Rey, your beautiful baby is here,” and the doctor and midwife helped to slide the baby away from Rey’s body and onto a fresh white sheet the midwife lay over Rey’s blood on the mattress. Ben and Andrien helped Rey down, resting her against a high nest of pillows on the mattress. Across the top of Rey’s head, Andrien caught Ben’s eye. “Bonheur sur toi,” he smiled quietly, and he disappeared up the stairs.

Somehow, Ben had managed to arrange himself behind Rey as they lowered to the floor, so that she was resting against the left side of his chest. He was unconsciously kissing her face over and over again. The midwife handed the baby – wiped somewhat clean of the blood and gunk of birth - straight into Rey’s arms, but she was so tired that Ben had to reach around either side of her to help hold … oh, wow, he looked between his baby’s legs … their daughter. His little girl had a shock of dark hair and her big dark eyes were trained on her mother’s face.

As much as he wanted to focus on the heart-stopping vision that was his daughter, he needed to focus on the blood. The mattress was covered in the sort of filth that he usually associated with death: blood, shit, bodily fluids that he wasn’t even sure he could identify. As he watched, the doctor readied an injection and stuck it into Rey’s thigh – she didn’t even seem to notice, but he supposed the pain must be minimal after what she’d just been through. Dr Messina smiled calmly, “This will help stop the bleeding. I know it looks frightening, but she is doing very well.” She patted Ben’s knee. “I can hear you worrying from here. Don’t. I’m going to take good care of Rey, all right?”

No, he would carry right on worrying, ta very much. “All of this blood…”

“Is normal,” Dr Messina finished for him. “She is going to deliver the afterbirth now, and she’s going to need a couple of stitches…” Ben flinched… “but nothing dire. She. Is. Doing. Very. Well.”

A second midwife had appeared and Ben found himself being lectured by the woman, half in English, half in Italian, on helping Rey hold their daughter so that the baby could feed. Ben eased Rey’s t-shirt over her head and tossed the sweat-soaked thing to the side. Rey was laughing softly but half-hysterically, stroking her fingers over every inch of their baby.

“Ben, look!” Rey held up her finger, which the baby had a firm grip on. She grasped Ben’s hand and pressed his thumb against the baby’s other palm, and his brilliant daughter immediately closed her tiny fist. “Isn’t she just incredible?” The midwife helped them to position the baby against Rey’s breast, and the little mouth immediately opened over Rey’s nipple and clamped on, shutting her little eyes and sucking contentedly.

Ben thought he might melt through the stone floor.

“Benjie,” he heard a sigh behind him, and half-turned to see Giulia wiping away her tears. “Oh, she’s gorgeous. Here…” she reached above her to take down half a dozen glasses from a rack nailed into the wall. Running her fingers thoughtfully along the stone wall, she reached into one of the little niches with a smile on her face and drew out a bottle. “A light summer red, very low alcohol, very sweet.” She uncorked the bottle and poured out two glasses, handing the first to Rey. “Just half a glass, cara,” she winked. “While the doctor finishes up. You should celebrate.” His godmother handed Ben the second glass filled to the top, and he drained the whole thing in a swallow.

As Giulia passed out glasses to the doctor and midwives, Ben cocked an eyebrow at Rey taking a hesitant sip of wine while his daughter happily fed from her breast. “Should Rey be drinking?” he asked, over-loudly. The Sicilian midwife looked at him aghast, and Giulia whacked him gently on the back of his head. Dr Messina was shaking her head and laughing.

“She need little vino to replace the blood,” the midwife informed him. “You drink, mama. Her milk's not in yet, papa.”

“She was born in a wine cellar, Ben,” Rey shrugged, helping herself to a more assured sip. “It’s probably good luck. Anyway,” Rey looked around herself, only now seeming to take in her setting properly, “why are we in the wine cellar?”

Ben set aside his glass and settled fully behind her, so that his legs stretched on either side of her and she was fully lying against his chest, his arms full of her and his newborn. He’d managed to get one of his hands underneath the baby’s bare bottom, holding her so that Rey’s shoulders could relax. “I will tell you the whole story,” he kissed her head, and she turned her face up to him with a giddy smile, he kissed her lips. God, he was shattered. But this was no time to relax, not when Rey and his girl needed him. This day had splintered any reserve he had left, so the next words just tumbled out: “First I just need a few moments to sit here and be in love with the two of you.”


	34. The Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's naught but fluffy fluffness of the supersoft variety.

Rey was responsible. If there was one adjective – other than lonely – that her foster carers, teachers, and social workers had used to describe her, it had been this: responsible. And being responsible, Rey had imagined, almost from the first scan, how the birth of her baby would go. She would have saved money and stocked up on nappies and onesies. The money she received from the government would buy a cot. She would have the baby – alone – at the local NHS maternity ward where she was registered. Having the baby alone was not something that most books and websites took into account: everyone else seemed to have a partner, or a mother, or an aunt, or at least a friend to go with them. But Rey knew that these relationships were luxuries, not essentials, and she was practical about separating needs and wants. The midwives would keep her on the ward for a couple of days while she found her feet, and then she’d be ready to face motherhood alone. She’d stock the kitchen cabinet when her time came near, so that she could eat by grazing from tins and longlife milk and those loaves of bread that never seemed to go off. She was young and strong and the NHS was not going to let her die, the health visitors would check on her. She’d be alone, but she and her baby would make it.

She could not have even guessed at the reality: Ben wrapping her naked, exhausted body in a clean floral sheet and carrying her all the way up the stairs to their bedroom, while Giulia followed, holding their daughter. The windows were open, a night breeze drifting through the room, the comfy chaise from downstairs now sitting on her roof terrace, a big canvas umbrella next to it, ready to be raised when she sat out tomorrow. She needed lots of fresh air, the midwives were indoctrinating Ben, and fresh food. Whole streams of liquids. Someone had set up a table groaning with jugs of cold water and juice, bread and cheese and pastries and smoked fish.

But first, they said, she needed a shower. They looked pointedly at Ben and nudged him toward the en suite, and he carried her in, unwrapped her and then undressed himself. Rey didn’t want him looking at her, not really. She was a mess of sweat and blood and her body just felt weird… ripped open and blobby. This did not seem to be Ben’s impression.

Under a stream of warm water, he washed her hair and then very carefully took a soapy flannel to her body. He worked reverently, kissing her breasts and her belly and shoulders, stroking his fingers gently over her legs and back. She closed her eyes and let herself relax into the steam and the herbal sweetness of the soap and shampoo and the soft touches Ben gave her limbs, listening to him murmur about how beautiful she was, how thankful he was. Turning off the taps, he dried every inch of her, brushed out and then loosely braided her hair. He pressed into her knickers one of the enormous pads the midwives had handed to him, and he slid them up her legs without a comment while she leaned on his shoulders to hold herself upright. Giulia had given him some soft cotton sleep shorts and a matching button-front pyjama top – “She said it would be useful for breastfeeding” – before he threw on a clean pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt.

“I’m going to get you into bed, my love,” he whispered into her hair, and then picked her back up to carry her to the beautiful, blessedly comfortable bed in the centre of the room.

So, no. Birth had not gone as she’d expected.

With her baby daughter in her arms and the midwives and Dr Messina slowly withdrawing, Rey drank three glasses of cold water and then ate a roll piled with sliced cheese, followed by a cup of sweet, cold, chopped melon. Ben was settling their baby at her breast and the little girl fell into sucking like a pro.

Giulia closed the door behind her as she left.

“We have a baby,” Ben laughed, sounding as astounded as she felt. “God, Rey, she is the most perfect little person.”

“She has your hair and your size… 3.85 kilos!” Rey had been considering her daughter’s eyes, but it was too early to tell the inheritance there. 

“She is going to be as beautiful as her mum,” Ben laid another kiss on her shoulder.

“You need to tell me how I ended up in that wine cellar,” she countered. “Also, I think I’m naming her Chardonnay.”

Ben grinned. “Perhaps Marsala. Or Syrah.”

She laughed again. She just felt so helplessly happy. Safe. Loved. “Well? Spill it. I doubt you ordered us moved into a wine cellar because you fancied a drink.”

So, bit by bit, the story came out. Even snuggled into Ben’s arms, clean and fed and holding her perfectly safe baby, Rey shuddered through the retelling.

“So, Snoke tried to blow us all up? And your Dad chased down a helicopter, loaded with missiles, in a fighter jet?”

“That’s about it,” he nodded.

“Ben, he’s still out there, and he’s not going to stop…”

“Not unless I stop him, no,” Ben agreed. “But Rey, he’s made half a dozen attempts on your life, and I’ve kept you safe. Like I said I would. I won’t let him hurt you Rey, or her. Never.”

“What’s next? A nuclear weapon? Because he would, wouldn’t he, if he had that kind of access…” she looked up at Ben to see him averting his gaze. “He does have that kind of access, doesn’t he?”

“I am going to stop him, Rey. Please, let’s just…” he stroked one long finger over their daughter’s face. She’d dropped Rey’s nipple, her little mouth round and slack as she slept against her mother’s heart. “Let’s not miss this, for worrying about Snoke.”

Rey had her own head pillowed on Ben’s t-shirt, and the steady thud of his heart was incredibly soothing, so she understood where her daughter was coming from. “We’re talking about this later, though,” Rey informed him through a yawn. She felt Ben lift the baby out of her arms and settle her in the crook of his elbow. Rey stretched her legs out – god, everything hurt – and rolled away from Ben, starfishing herself on the thick, soft sheets. Ben’s free hand reached over to her, and he dragged his fingers gently through her hair, over and over.

“Ben,” she mumbled before she fell asleep. “Ben? You listening?”

“Yes, my love. I’m listening.”

“We’re naming her Hanna, Ben. Full. Stop.”

…

Rey fell fast and far into unconsciousness. Ben couldn’t believe that she had stayed awake this long, after all she had endured over the last 24 hours.

He looked down at the neatly-nappied baby in his arms – he could nearly hold all of her in his hand. With no one else there to correct or instruct him, Ben relaxed and traced a finger around his daughter’s tiny foot. She opened her eyes at his touch, not crying or fussing, just watching him as he watched her.

“Your mother says you’re Hanna,” he whispered to her. “I voted Padme, but you know what, little girl? It might be time to put all of that Skywalker history behind us.” She flailed her arms a bit and smacked her lips together. “Would you believe, Hanna, that I have never held a baby before?” She rubbed her face back and forth across his chest and started making little sucking noises. “The food has gone to sleep, little one, and we’re not waking her yet. Come on,” he manoeuvred carefully out of bed and walked them over to the roof terrace, circling the chaise under the stars. Hanna began to fuss, so he rocked her, hoping to avoid loud crying that might disturb Rey.

As the baby grew more restless, Ben kept talking, and the sound of his voice seemed to calm her. “I’m going to tell you a story, one that my uncle used to tell me. You ready?” He arranged Hanna with her back stretched across his chest, looking up at the stars over the quiet, dark village. “Long, long ago…”

…

Leia drove the rented Fiat up the dark hills toward Palermo, taking the turns more carefully than Han would have and causing Chewie to growl discontentedly in the backseat. She told him to pack it in. She didn’t usually drive, but Han didn’t usually look this wrung out, either, and Chewie hadn’t looked much better. They’d come very close, far too close, to losing Ben for good this time, along with Rey and the baby. And Giulia, and Dominik, and anyone else that happened to be within a few hundred metres of wherever that missile might have hit.

Getting past the edge of the village that night was like crossing a WWI trench position – the townspeople had set up checkpoints at the few road entrances to town, complete with armed guards and a barbed wire and sandbag blockade. A young woman with a semi-automatic rifle asked them for their documents; she was too young to remember Leia and Han and Chewie by sight. As she drove through town, people skittered off the streets and sank into shadow before her headlights. The town looked wrung-out, too.

It all cemented in her mind the need to bring Ben, Rey and her grandchild back to London.

“Place looks like it’s been through a war,” Han sighed.

“Yes, well, I suppose it has. It’s tough hosting a guest when someone is willing to blow up your town to eliminate them.” Leia swung the Fiat into parking spot a few metres from Giulia’s door. Before she’d even set the parking brake, Han and Chewie had rediscovered their energy and were off, scampering through the open kitchen door like overexcited children.

Leia tossed the keys into her handbag and walked around to the courtyard entrance; she could hear the muffled bonhomie coming from the kitchen, and she reckoned that she had a few minutes while Han and Chewie had a drink with whoever was there to greet them. The biggest man she had ever seen – and she knew Chewie – opened the gate to her. He had the oddest tattoo on his face, but much odder still was the fact that he was hugging her.

“La mère de Ben! You are here to see the enfant? She is…” The man paused to find a suitable adjective.

Leia cut in: “She?” Her heart clenched with the hope that the man’s command of English was good enough to have the pronoun right.

“Oui, c’est une petite fille.” He grinned, which made the gun on his face go all wonky.

“A granddaughter? I have a granddaughter?” She laughed, then turned towards the house and ran up the stairs until she stood before the door to the topmost bedroom. She knocked very gently, but when there was no response, she crept inside, careful not to let the door creak. Rey was fast asleep on the large bed in the centre of the airy room. Leia tiptoed inside until she spotted Ben’s bulk on the roof terrace; a little more to the right and she could see the little figure sleeping facedown across his chest, little arms and legs spread to either side beneath a knitted blanket.

“I know you’re there, Mum,” he said quietly. He stretched a leg out and hooked a garden chair with his foot, pulling it closer for her. “Come out here and sit down before you wake Rey.”

Her granddaughter had a head of soft, almost black hair, and she was naked except for a nappy. Ben had thrown a blanket over the top of her to ward off any chill on this warm night, but her little bare arms and upper back were visible. Ben wasn’t wearing a shirt, and her own maternal instinct was to find him something to wear. She said as much.

He waggled his phone at her. “The internet said that you’re supposed to have newborns skin to skin for bonding.”

Leia stifled a laugh. “I cannot believe that sentence just came out of your mouth.” When he looked offended, she quickly added: “But I’m glad it did.” She pushed the chair a little closer and sat down, near enough to brush her had over the little girl’s head. “You’re going to make a wonderful father. And you know very well that I’m not just telling you that,” she spoke over his objection. “I couldn’t have imagined that to be true for most of the last few years. But it is now.”

“Mum, I was very nearly the reason for her death, before she’d even been born,” he shook his head. “Even now she’s not safe. We don’t know what’s coming next. I didn’t even know that Rey was pregnant until she was so ill and overworked that she passed out in the street. I’m both a shit father and a shit partner.”

Leia smiled kindly: there was the little boy that she remembered, kind and serious and oh-so hard on himself. “My sweet Benjie,” she said, and shook her head back at him when he scoffed. “You made some serious mistakes, and they’ll follow you and they’ll haunt you.”

“Thanks, Mum. Needed that.”

“But,” she talked over him, shushing him with her tone, “We can still fix the worst of what’s gone wrong. And we can make sure that Rey and this little angel don’t pay for your mistakes. You’re going to have a life with them, Ben. I know you don’t believe it, but I do. And you know that I don’t believe without evidence.”

Her words seemed to relax him. “Is Dad here?”

“Downstairs with Chewie, already holding court in the kitchen,” she sighed.

“I need to thank him.”

“No, sweetie, you don’t. You don’t ever need to thank us for helping you.”

…

Rey managed a night’s sleep, interrupted only when Ben woke her to feed Hanna. He’d help hold the baby in position to nurse, then he’d rock Hanna in one arm while stroking Rey’s hair until she fell asleep again. By the time she woke fully, the midday sun was lighting up the room and she could vaguely hear what sounded like a house party going on downstairs. Ben was asleep beside her, facedown in the pillows, and Hanna was nowhere to be seen. She shot up in bed, panicked.

“Whoa there, Mummy,” and Rey’s head whipped to the side to see Han in a chair next to their bed, his legs kicked out before him. “My little granddaughter is just fine.” Hanna was dressed in a little onesie covered in cartoon images of tiny, vintage cars and snoozing contentedly in her Grandpa’s lap.

“You’ll have to forgive her outfit, Rey,” Leia came through the door and set a tray down next to Rey: water, juice, tea, toasted sesame bread and orange marmalade. “Han’s been shopping. Here, Ben said that you didn’t drink very much last night, so make sure to drink all of that, okay?”

Rey struggled to sit up. “How is she?” she croaked. Damn, she really was thirsty. And she hurt, in places that she really didn’t want to mention in front of Han and Leia. It hurt enough to make her eyes water.

“She’s gorgeous, that’s how she is!” Han enthused. Ben was grumbling what sounded like “Mum, Dad, get out” into the pillow.

“She’s doing beautifully, Rey. You last fed her a few hours ago, though, so she’ll probably wake soon. If you’d like, we can take her downstairs for half an hour, let you get cleaned up.” Rey could feel herself turning red at Leia’s pointed words. There was likely a crime scene in her knickers. “Dr Messina went back to Palermo last night, but she’ll be by in a couple of hours to check on you both.”

Han stood up and walked the few steps toward the bed, prepared to hand the baby back to Rey for a cuddle. He stopped when Ben let out a loud, irritated huff and pushed himself into a sitting position next to Rey. “As you’ve let yourselves into our room and commandeered our child,” he snarked, his voice grouchy, “you may as well know her name. Sit down, Dad; you should be holding her for this.” Sliding an arm around Rey, Ben pulled her close and landed a kiss against her hair. “You want to tell them?”

She shook her head. “No, they’re your parents…”

“Pfff. We’re your parents, too, now,” Leia interjected.

“Hanna,” Ben announced without preamble. “We named her Hanna.”

Both Leia and Han froze, and Hanna seemed to pick up on the tension, starting to fuss. Han looked down at the little girl and broke into a dazzling smile. “That sets the bar pretty high for getting name-checked on your kids’ birth certificates,” he smirked. “Good luck with the next one, Leia. You’re going to need to top stealing a fighter jet.”

Rey’s mouth dropped open. “You stole that plane?”

Leia patted her hand. “The Italian military don’t hand out their planes to just anyone, and technically Chewie stole it. He’s going to be gunning for middle name position – trust me.” She shrugged.

Han was deep in a session of “Hello, Hana” and pulling faces at his grandchild, so Leia led him toward the door. “Ben, you get Rey cleaned up and fed and watered and back into bed where she belongs.” Ben threw her a mock-salute and tumbled out of bed, stretching. “Rey, trust me, do not attempt to walk further than the roof terrace today, even if you think you feel up to it.”

Han stopped on the threshold. “Son, thank you. Rey, thank you. This is a real honour.” He smiled that self-satisfied smile again and disappeared with Hanna in his arms.

The minute the door was closed, Rey turned to Ben, feeling bereft: “Do you think we’ll ever see her again?”

He crawled over the bed to her and started pressing kisses onto her hands. “I’d say half the village is down there, waiting to meet her, but that’s an underestimate based on the crowd I saw when I last braved the kitchen. Dom is running crowd control.” He looked at her more seriously, “I promise you that she has not left the room until just now. And Mum and Dad will not be letting anyone else hold her, barring Giulia. I talked to Mum about it earlier.”

Rey was in tears in the shower, and she shut the door on Ben so that she could wash away the blood by herself. The pain seemed a rude insult after the drawn-out ordeal of the birth, but it wasn’t the cause of the tears. The longer she took soaping and rinsing, the more distressed she became, and by the time she had herself dressed again in clean pyjamas, she was sobbing openly. She had no idea why.

Ben stood outside the bathroom until he could not take it anymore, bursting in as she sat on the tile floor in floods. Rey felt as though someone had ripped out a part of her soul and wandered off with it. After carrying her back to the bed, Ben opened the door and shouted down the stairs, “Mum! Bring Hanna back here – now!”

Seconds later, Leia was passing the baby back to Rey, and as soon as Hanna latched on, Rey started to calm down. “I think I don’t want anyone taking her out of the room,” Rey ventured.

“Whatever you say, Rey,” Ben gathered them up. “You tell me who can come in, and when. I’ll enforce it. You make the rules.”

For the rest of the day, Rey stayed secluded in the room with Ben, never moving farther than the terrace, and he even carried Hanna and her to the chaise outside. Aside from the check by Dr Messina, Ben kept everyone else away. Rey knew that she was being ridiculous, but she wanted a day to be with her baby, without any interference, without any fear that someone would take Hanna, or harm her, or try to blow her up.

Tomorrow, she’d need to face the reality of Snoke and the threat to her family. Which she intended to end. Now that she finally had a family, nothing and no one would take them from her. 


	35. The Departure

The news that Poe had arrested Snoke arrived three days after Hanna’s birth and coincided with Leia’s return to London. Without Kylo as his attorney - and with the weight of evidence that Poe, Rose and Leia had painstakingly accumulated – he was kept held in custody rather than released on bond.

That night, Ben crawled up the stairs from the kitchen, loose-limbed and stumbling. His father and Chewie and Dom had decided that wetting the head of a baby born in a wine cellar, meant that they needed to drink as much of said wine cellar as they could. Rey had just finished feeding Hanna when he tripped over the threshold, the enormity of him spilling across the tile floor. He raised his head from the terracotta and gave her a drunken, lovesick grin that reminded her that Ben himself was still young. He usually carried himself and spoke with such authority that it made it easy for her to forget, but now he looked positively adolescent.

“Rey!” he loud-whispered. Hanna opened her eyes and flailed her arms at the sound of his voice. “Rey, I love you so much. You are so beautiful.” Even slurred, she liked hearing it. He crawled onto the bed and flopped, his head resting next to her hip where she was sitting up in bad, Hanna sprawled across her lap. “Hanna, my angel, your Daddy missed you.” Hanna’s little fist hit him in the nose and he flinched. 

“You’re an emotive drunk,” Rey laughed. “Good to know.”

Ben was mouthing kisses into her hip, muttering “I love my girls” over and over. Suddenly, he sat up and in a moment of near-lucidity, announced: “He’s getting out. Luke said. Maybe tomorrow or… not. But soon. Ish.” Ben took one of Hanna’s feet in his hand and pressed the sole of her foot against his cheek, smiling sadly. “He’ll never stop. He has never stopped.” He kissed Hanna’s toes and looked into Rey’s eyes, serious and passing sober. “I won’t let him hurt either of you,” he vowed.

Rey told him that she trusted him, which was the truth of it. She settled Hanna into her Moses basket by the bed and watched as Kylo slowly lost consciousness without moving from his position, curled on his side next to her. She did trust him to deal with Snoke. But she trusted herself more.

…

When Ben checked over his work for the third time, Han finally allowed himself to whack his son on the back of the head. “We’re a family of mechanics, Benjamin. I think between you, Rey, Chewie and myself, we have managed to install that car seat correctly.”

Ben was tugging the baby seat to make sure it didn’t wiggle. “These things have to be placed just right…”

“It is placed just right, son. If you don’t get into the car with Rey and Hanna soon, you’ll have wasted the whole day. I know you wanted to get Rey down to the beach.” Chewie signed his concern that it was too early for Rey to travel comfortably. “Stop it, Chewie. The girl’s getting cabin fever in this house. It’s been two weeks – if she says she’s fine, then she’s fine.”

“I know, Chewie,” Ben added, lifting his head from the backseat to catch his uncle’s latest comment. “I’m worried about her, too. But I think that a trip to the sea will do her good.” Han could tell from his face that Ben thought nothing of the sort.

For days, everyone in the household had followed Ben’s example, treating Rey with the utmost care, as though she would shatter on impact if her feet so much as touched the ground. Whatever Ben was seeing that led him to treat Rey like this, Han didn’t see it. Han saw Rey easing her way down the stairs with Hanna cuddled to one shoulder, Ben in front of her, fussing as though she’d fall if he let go. While Rey gained in confidence with the baby, and while her features lit up again as she recovered from the birth, Ben grew more taciturn and paranoid. If any of the visitors who came to congratulate the new parents actually entered the property, Ben threatened them with a gun. It led to a nonna from two streets over hitting him over the head with a basket of pastries, and that’s when Han decided it was time to get the little family out of the house and into the world.

Han climbed into the driver’s seat of the enormous SUV that Chewie had found, at Ben’s insistence. The hulking monster could barely make it through the narrow, cobbled streets of town.

“Dad, I am driving,” Ben snarled.

“Son, you’re a twitchy, paranoid mess. You are not driving. You will sit in the back seat…”

“I most certainly will not!”

“… with your girlfriend and your baby. You will not worry; you will enjoy yourself. Besides, Chewie called shotgun ages back.”

Rey emerged from the house, her bikini peeking from beneath a sundress a couple of sizes too big for her, Hanna in her arms. “I’m ready!” she called out happily. “I can’t wait to dip Hanna’s toes in the sea. Ben, did you grab the picnic basket from Giulia? I’ve got nappies and wipes…”

Chewie gave Rey a kiss on the cheek and opened the car door for her while Ben took Hanna. He spent a long while getting her settled into the carseat, so Rey climbed into the centre seat and buckled her seatbelt.

“Rey, you’re looking great, kid,” Han told her via the rearview mirror. Ben shut Hanna’s door and then rounded the car to sit beside Rey. Hanna was absorbed in watching Chewie lean around his seat to dangle a black and white toy over her head, smacking her lips and trying to kick at it. Han signalled to the convoyed security escort, and the cars ahead set off down the road.

“Thanks, I’m feeling much better now,” she answered, amusement all over her pretty face as she watched Hanna and Chewie. “I don’t know what they’re putting in the food, but I have so much more energy this week.”

Han made no mention of the liquid vitamin preparations that Dr Messina had prescribed and that Ben now added to her morning smoothies. He readjusted the mirror so that he could see Rey and Ben ‘s faces more clearly. Rey’s eyes looked bright and her skin full of colour, the result of Ben’s nonstop efforts to make sure that she rested, ate and slept undisturbed whenever possible. His son, though, had dark circles under his eyes that reached almost to his chin, and he looked like he might not make it all the way to the beach without passing out. Rey had come to Han yesterday, begging him to convince Ben to get out of the house, anything to curb the paranoia that was keeping him awake for nights on end.

At the beach, a dozen men were deployed to walk the outskirts of the cove while Han and Chewie unloaded the picnic and set up some beach chairs and an umbrella. Rey led Ben down to the shoreline; they crouched together as Ben held Hanna over the water, letting her feet trail in the surf as it ebbed and flowed over the sand. But even then, Han could see the tension in his son’s back and shoulders. They waded into the water and Ben held both Rey, who could just about doggy paddle in shallow water, and Hanna as they floated in the calm sea. His granddaughter pulled an adorable face when the saltwater splashed into her mouth.

Not even Han could be married to Leia for more than three decades without picking up a thing or two about timing. So he waited until everyone had gathered around the fire, even Ben looking a bit more relaxed, before edging his plan into the conversation.

“Rey, you’re starting those business and automotive courses again in the fall, aren’t you?”

On the other side of the fire, Rey sat on a beach chair with Hanna in her arms, Ben slumped on the sand at her feet, his head resting on her thigh. Her face lit up at the topic, while Ben raised an eyebrow in his father’s direction. “Yes, the lessons start on September 6th.  The college has a creche…”

“No!” Both Han and Ben looked at each other, having intervened simultaneously. “Come on, kid, there’s no reason to put my namesake in the creche. Chewie and I can look after her, if Ben is…” For a moment, no one spoke. The words “in prison” hung heavily between them all. “… working,” Han dodged. “And we’d really like it… Chewie and I … if you’d consider doing your practical work for the course at our garage.”

Rey tilted her head to one side, considering. Han knew that she wanted to build something independently, but he hoped she’d understand that now they were family, that she couldn’t lose him and Leia and Chewie and Luke, no matter what happened between she and Ben.

“That sounds perfect,” she finally agreed. “But Han… eventually, I’m looking to have my own business, you know.”

“Yeah, well, eventually I’m looking to retire and find someone to take over the business.” Rey’s eyes widened exactly as he’d hoped they would. She hadn’t even considered this, finishing her studies and then walking right into an ownership role. “You’re gifted as hell with cars, Rey, and with people. Ben here,” he pointed, “is an excellent mechanic, but don’t let him near your customers.”

Ben opened his mouth to snark back – Han could tell – but Rey’s laugh shut him up. “Oh my god… my customers. My own shop?” She looked astounded. “That’s so generous, Han, you can’t just give up your garage…”

“One, I’m not giving it to anyone, not yet. Two… Rey, you still don’t get it. You are family now. It’s the best I could hope for, to have family take over that garage.” Chewie nodded along with him.

Rey looked down at Ben. He smiled up softly at her and curled an arm around her thigh. “No one could do it better than you, Rey. You could take their hobby shop and make a real business out of it.”

“I would love that,” she whispered. “Oh, Han, thank you.” She passed Hanna to Ben and stood up to give Han the hug he’d been hoping for.

“No problem, Rey,” he smiled, returning her hug, and he whispered: “I’ll give you a garage with a questionable client base, but you gave me back my son. Let’s call it even.”

…

She supposed that Ben had waited as long as he could. A day after Dr Messina administered Hanna’s first vaccinations at 8 weeks, he finally told Rey about Snoke being bailed. She’d known that this announcement was coming – he’d warned her often enough that nothing as flimsy as the law would hold Snoke forever – but his timing was suspect. Blissed out from her orgasm, his softening cock still inside her, when he’d begun: “I need to go back to London, my love.” A kiss to her bare shoulder to distract her. He shifted and left her body, unleashing a trickle across her upper thigh. “It’s his last holdout, and Dom and I need to secure it.”

“You’re not leaving without us, Ben. If you go back to London, we’re coming with you.” Like she was going to let him leave her behind, like she was going to sit around waiting for him to return.

He wriggled further into the bed, bringing their eyes to the same level. “Yes, of course you are,” he looked puzzled. “I’m not leaving you two here while Snoke gets his hands on a missile. Besides,” he kissed her again, “you have that big house in London, and I want Hanna to grow up in her home. Also, my mother is complaining about her granddaughter being in Sicily.”

Rey smiled at him. “So, you planning to live in that big house with me?”

“Am I being invited?”

“Ben,” she scoffed, “you bought that house. Of course you can live with us.”

He looked serious and a bit worried. “No, that house is yours and Hanna’s. I’m not sure even I could find evidence that I bought it. You don’t owe me anything, Rey, and if you don’t want me there, I will never cross the threshold. But for me, you know that I wouldn’t be parted from you…” he paused, glancing across the bedroom at the Moses basket where Hanna slept, “Or her.”

“Ben… where is this coming from?” It hurt to hear him assuming that she wouldn’t want them to be a family. “I love you. I want to live with you.”

He smiled, his face suddenly much younger again. “I love you, too. I want us all to be together.”

The next two days were spent packing up and doing the rounds in the village to say goodbye. With Han or Chewie or Giulia or Ben beside her, she promised at least a hundred times to bring her little Siciliana back to visit every year.

Giulia tidied up the house, to be left once again in the care of her housekeeper, who had lived there for decades. After Hanna had been kissed and blessed by the entire population, they all drove to Palermo and boarded the plane that Han had chartered. He and Ben flew them back, and Rey felt her heart lighten as she watched them together, straightforward in their shared enjoyment of flying.

“It’s wonderful, cara, to see them like that after all these years. I haven’t seen them happy together since Ben was a teenager,” Giulia told her.

When they finally pulled through the gates onto the front drive in Primrose Hill, Luke and Leia were standing in the little front garden, both wearing old clothes and looking a bit dusty. Leia was on them as soon as the car door opened: “Where’s my little girl? Oh, look at you! Nana has missed you!” She was already fighting with Hanna’s car seat. “How does this blasted thing work? If I’m not cuddling this angel in less than 10 seconds, I’m going to…”

“There, Mum, hang on. Jesus,” Ben reached over and snapped the buckle open.

Leia lifted Hanna up gently and turned her so that the baby was facing out. “Luke, look at this girl! Rey, she is even more perfect than I remembered.” 

Luke sidled over and placed a careful kiss on Hanna’s hand. “Lovely to meet you, little princess,” he said with a kind smile. “Well done, Ben. She’s the spit of you.” Luke reached out to help Rey out of the car, and he added to her, “That has to be frustrating.”

Ben opened the boot to start grabbing suitcases. “We’re all just hoping that she has Rey’s personality,” he said.

“That’s for bloody sure,” Han muttered, then kissed Leia and shared a sympathetic look with her. “What have you been up to? You’re covered in dust.” Hanna sneezed where she was snuggled to Leia’s shoulder.

“Luke and I cleaned up the house a bit.” She looked over at Ben. “We didn’t want to let anyone else inside the gates, so we did it ourselves.”

Ben leaned down and kissed his Mum’s head, as though that was just a normal, run-of-the-mill thing that happened between them. “Thanks, Mum.” Then he gave Rey a more possessive kiss and followed Chewie, Han and Luke into the house, leaving Leia and Rey alone in the front garden with Hanna.

“Well, little angel,” Leia whispered to the baby. “It seems you and your mama truly are a miracle workers.”

…

It was very different, but not unwelcome, to suddenly be alone again. When it looked like 4am was the best Hanna was going to do for a lie-in, Ben let Rey feed their daughter and change her nappy while he threw on some clothes.

“I’ll just take her for a walk,” he kissed her. “You sleep more if you can. At least rest,” he sighed.

“Ben, you’re exhausted,” she tried, but he cut her off with a fierce kiss.

“I’m fine, don’t worry, my love. I’ll get some kip later if I can, okay?”

As he wheeled Hanna’s pushchair out the gates, still audibly yawning from one floor down, she heard him talking to the two men left behind to guard her and the house.

Because, yes, alone was a relative term. In the two months since their return to London, Ben and Dominik and Maks had taken most everything that Snoke had controlled. But not everything, and the factions still loyal to Snoke were particularly violent, particularly nasty. She knew all of this through Finn and Rose, who kept Rey updated on every successful negotiation, every shooting, every stabbing, every attempt on Ben’s life. Ben said nothing, in order to spare her the worry, but with the rotating teams of armed men at the gate, Rey felt better knowing what was happening.

Poe and Leia expected to have Snoke in front of the court within the month, after the lawyers he had hired had been successful enough to drag out the start of the trial.

“What’s it going to mean for Ben?” Rey had asked her friends last week, when she met them in her local.

Rose never shied away from a straight answer: “He does not need to testify – all of the information he had about Snoke is privileged. But Rey, you must know that it’s very likely Snoke will blame Ben for much of the illegal activity.”

Finn had taken a sip of his pint and disagreed: “I think Rose is being too pessimistic. With Luke representing him and his mother steering the prosecution, Ben stands a good chance of making a clean break.”

But Rey had looked into Rose’s eyes and seen the truth there: if Snoke went to trial, he’d drag Ben down with him. Or he’d flat out find a way to kill their little family.

“Thanks, Finn,” she had smiled at her friend. “But who’s holding together the rest of Snoke’s network, anyway?”

“When Ben left, Snoke parachuted in a new lawyer to head the firm. He’d been working for Snoke in Eastern Europe, but he’s British.”

“What’s his name?” she had asked, trying not to sound too curioius.

Rose had given her a quizzical look, but told her anyway: “Enric Pryde.”

Now Rey reckoned she had at least an hour until Ben came back with Hanna; he’d put on his running clothes and that meant he’d be running along the canal and probably through Regent’s Park afterwards. He liked to stop by the pond with Hanna, so that added another 15 minutes.

Plenty of time, then, to visit Enric Pryde’s Audi A7, which she’d already found parked just a few blocks away on a leafy, well-appointed street in Swiss Cottage. She popped on her running gear and a hat, then tucked an unnecessary pair of glasses and her trusty multitool into her pockets. Rey was going to make sure that Mr Pryde would be in need of a good mechanic.


	36. The Mechanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more summer lazing about... I shall complete the story. :)

The hours that Ben worked meant long periods away from Hanna, then long periods of dedicated fatherhood. He’d been there when she had first reached successfully for her toes, when she had first clapped (on discovering Ben during a game of ‘Where’s Daddy?’ that involved a sofa cushion hiding his face), and when she had first tried solid food (avocado) and made a horrendous mess while eating very little. With Rey out at his Dad’s garage during the day, or at her computer doing coursework, he had plenty of time to bond with his daughter.

He also began to appreciate his family’s visits. At the moment, he and Luke were at a café in Camden Town with Hanna strapped into her pushchair. Luke was dangling a soft toy for Hanna to grab and stuff into her mouth, and the two of them were laughing like loons over the game. It made for a nice counterpoint to the very serious discussion of Ben’s future.

Without looking up from Hanna’s latest pass at the cuddly giraffe, Luke continued: “Can I get you off for what you’ve already done? Maybe, but probably not completely. Your law career is over, but you knew that…”

“I hated it,” Ben admitted to his uncle. “I hated being a lawyer. Not just working for Snoke, although that was terrible, but…”

“Yeah, you’re a pilot. A driver. An engineer. A designer.” Luke managed to coax his nephew’s eyes up to meet his own. “You were never meant for the law. That’s alright, you know, Ben. You’re 28 years old. You can change your whole life.”

“Uncle Luke… the things I’ve done…”

But Luke held up a hand, letting Hanna snag the giraffe and begin chomping on it. “Ben. I need to stop you there. What you have done – I’m not going to absolve you. I can’t. And honestly? I think you need some sessions with Maz. To work through all that, what’s inside that allowed you to do what you did. What you might still have to do.” He patted Hanna’s tummy as she wrestled the soft toy. “But I am going to represent you Ben. I’m going to do my best to keep you where you belong… with Rey and Hanna. Okay?”

Ben managed a smile. “Yeah, Uncle Luke. I know that you will.”

…

Jeremy Snoke lived in a predictably stylish, modern, steel-and-glass building in Kensington, in the penthouse apartment. After watching for days from a respectable distance, Rey could make out the men guarding Snoke as he entered and exited, and she knew enough by now to realise that the men she could see – and she’d counted six - were just the tip of the iceberg.

Rey had little knowledge of criminal organisations, and if it had ever occurred to her to wonder why Ben didn’t just shoot Snoke himself, she had always imagined it was out of some misplaced sense of past loyalty.

She was wrong. Even with his organisation gutted by Ben and Dom, apparently the man had powerful allies and an army of protectors.

Pryde had been a relatively simple affair. Finn still knew people in the First Order, and plenty were looking to get out from under Snoke as Kylo Ren steadily took over the business. They could see what was coming. Only a very few of those people were trustworthy, though.

So it had been Dopheld Mitaka who handed Enric Pryde the business card of a reliable mechanic – cleared by First Order, he assured his boss – when Mr Pryde showed up late to work one day after his car wouldn’t start. He had happened by as Pryde was ordering his assistant to ring the dealership. No need, Mitaka smiled, this place will have you on the road in under an hour, cheaper and faster than the dealership.

So when Pryde’s assistant had rung the ‘garage’, Finn had answered the phone and sent his best mechanic straight out. Rey – in coveralls, a hat and dark glasses – had fixed the problem that she had created herself in less time that it would have taken to get the dealership on the phone. Pryde was pleased, so Rey hoped that when Snoke’s car developed a fault less than two weeks later, he would have no hesitation in recommending a mechanic.

First, she had to make sure had to create the problem.

Snoke was prepared for a war, for an attack of brute force. He made sure no one could get close to him. But he wasn’t particularly well prepared for stealth. Rey did her research – a driver typically took Snoke’s Range Rover to a garage several miles from the flat to fill up the petrol tank. Rey made sure that she had a reasonable facsimile of the jeans and polo shirt worn by the garage’s employees, then waited in Finn’s car morning all morning, until two weeks of waiting paid off. As the driver turned to swipe his card at the pump, Finn and Rey sauntered onto the busy forecourt in their near-enough ‘uniforms’.

“Hey,” Finn smiled beneath his cap and sunglasses. “There’s a puddle of fluid under the car – probably not yours…” Finn ran his hand admiringly over the Range Rover’s black bonnet, “but I’ll have a quick look if you’d like, just to make sure.”

The driver shrugged. “Doubt it’s this car, but fair ‘nuf, couldn’t hurt to make sure.” He left the petrol pumping and came around to look under the car with Finn.

Rey stood from behind the pumps, out of the driver’s line of sight. She seamlessly moved the pump into a jerrycan, filling that instead, and began filling the Range Rover’s tank from a different can. Finn chatted loudly to the driver, checking to make sure the hoses were intact and nothing was leaking. When Finn yelled, “Looks fine – musta been someone here before you,” Rey replaced the still-pumping gas line and disappeared with her two jerrycans.

“Told you,” the driver said with barely a glance in Finn’s direction. He went back to the pump, waited the few moments for it to finish filling the tank, then dropped the pump back into its cradle, none the wiser. Sitting back in the driver’s seat, he started the engine and took off without another word.

Finn walked back to his car across the road, finding Rey already in the passenger seat. “How long’s he gonna last?”

“Depends on how long it takes the diesel to get to the intake and into the engine – he had some petrol in there before I started,” she said. “But when it hits the engine, it’s game over. It’s a tricky one to diagnose,” she said. “The engine will be buggered, so he’ll be calling for help.”

Finn stopped his car near her house, then reached over and squeezed her hand. “You sure about this, Rey? We really ought to tell Kylo, or at least Han and Leia...”

“The fewer people involved in this, the better. Quick and clean. You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”

“You know that I won’t, Rey. Not unless there’s no other way to save you, if you’re in trouble.”

She rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Just drop me near Snoke’s building and make sure Mitaka nudges Pryde in the right direction.”

Fortunately for Rey, the Range Rover made it back to Snoke’s parking garage, close enough for the driver to do just what she’d hoped he would: idle the engine in a reserved parking spot in front of the building. She’d known he wouldn’t take it down into the parking garage – Snoke liked to have the car waiting in that expensive parking space, so that he could emerge from the building’s front door and slip straight into the back seat.

And while the driver waited for his boss with the engine running, the diesel finally made it to the intake system. The engine died.

Finn made sure that Pryde rang the driver just as he popped open the bonnet for a closer look. Rey waited for the call, then drove up 12 minutes later in a white van and pulled her toolkit out of the back, swinging it casually in one hand as she greeted the driver. She angled herself behind the open bonnet and busied herself checking the usual suspects - the battery, loose connections – until the noiseless sliding doors of the building parted and Snoke walked out between two heavyset guards.

“What the hell is this?” Snoke rasped, seeing the driver bent over the car, Rey obscured from his line of sight. “Buggering shit.”

The driver stepped onto the pavement. “Mr Snoke, sir. Didn’t you get my message? There’s been a problem with the car.”

Rey squatted down enough to see Snoke through the gap between the bonnet and the car’s body. He was tapping his foot on the concrete and sweeping his hand towards the car. “Problem? I have a meeting to attend – now. Either fix this or find me another car, and do it immediately. You will not keep me standing here if you know what’s good for you.”

The driver gave a nervous nod. “Yes, we’re diagnosing the problem right now, but I’ll get the Jag if there’s any delay…”

Rey stood to get a better angle. Snoke caught the movement and cut off the driver’s explanation by gripping the poor man by the neck. He used his free hand to point the tip of his umbrella at Rey. “Who the hell is this?”

The driver gestured to the car. “You mean her?” He looked bewildered. Rey, shapeless in oversized coveralls and anonymous in her cap and dark glasses, remained still. “The car wasn’t running? I think it’s the engine. She came on Pryde’s recommendation.”

Rey lifted her head from beneath the bonnet of the car. “Good afternoon, Mr Snoke,” she said evenly, watching the old man’s eyes widen as she wiped her hand across her thighs. “I heard that you needed a mechanic.”

Rey felt her heart race away as Snoke released the driver and took one involuntary, unconscious step away from her, toward the building. For a moment, she feared that he would run, ruin the plan.

“She’s not a mechanic. That’s Kylo Ren’s bitch,” Snoke recovered himself, advancing towards the front of the car. “You fucking whore, you come here, to me? On my territory? I’m going to find your bastard and kill it. I’m going to…” Rey watched Snoke’s body rather than listen to his words. His hands were reaching beneath his coat, searching, his hip nearly touching the front fender. Snoke’s self-satisfied smile came across as a grimace. “You must think me a fool. Stupid bitch. Did you think that I wouldn’t recognise you? That I don’t know who you are?”

Rey shook her head slowly and backed two steps to the wide open back door of the white van: “I’m just a mechanic, Mr Snoke,” she shrugged, then whispered for his ears only: “And no, I don’t think you have the faintest clue who I am.”

Rey was responsible and practical, anyone who had ever known her could tell you that. She didn’t need to hear Snoke’s reaction, nor his accusations or explanations; she didn’t need a final showdown. So when he pulled his gun from beneath his coat, when he leaned across the engine of the car, reaching towards her, Rey didn’t hesitate.

The explosion dropped Snoke like a sack of rotting fruit to the pavement, the mess seeping into ridges between the concrete paving slabs. His body hit the ground right next to the tyre nearest the kerb. She couldn’t determine the extent of his injuries: the black diesel smoke burnt her eyes, the scramble of his guards and the driver provided further distraction. As she turned away, Rey could just make out a disembodied hand and forearm, which would have caught the brunt of the small explosion, abandoned on top of the brake fluid reservoir. Snoke’s hand was still clutching a handgun.

But the small device was only enough to have injured Snoke, and the area around the Rover cleared fast, before the fire could catch the fuel tank and explode.

Rey didn’t wait around to see if anyone would drag the esteemed Mr Snoke away from the car. With the still-raised bonnet between herself and the CCTV camera at the building’s entrance, Rey turned the corner down a street just opposite, following the instructions that Poe had given her, until she found a small alleyway with a skip. She pulled off her coveralls, cap and glasses and bundled them together, taking a small vial of lighter fuel from the pocket. She lit the bundle and tossed it into the empty skip. By the time she’d made sure that everything was burning nicely, Finn had pulled up with the passenger door swung wide.

He looked her over from head to foot as she raised the hood of her jumper and pulled it tight under her chin. He handed her another pair of sunglasses as she buckled her seatbelt and shut the door. “You okay?”

Rey let out a breath and nodded, and Finn drove. “I couldn’t see… him, I mean. Snoke… I don’t know what happened to him…”

“You were right about the timing,” Finn had a demeanour of deadly calm. “There was a good two minutes before the second explosion – I wouldn’t worry, Rey… no one else will have been injured.”

“And Ben?” 

“He had that meeting with Luke at the café in Regent’s Park. They pushed Hanna in a swing at the playground. He sent a photo to your phone – you sent back a grinning emoji.”

Rey smiled, head tilted back into the seat. “I do love that emoji.”

Finn smiled back. “I know. I have a WhatsApp convo full of them.” He reached out for her hand. “So back to the question… you okay?”

She thought about it. She’d just killed a man, or tried to. He might have survived; she wasn’t sure. Dead or alive, he would not be trouble to them anymore; a public attack like that, someone getting to him – Snoke was finished. “I’m okay,” she answered thoughtfully. “I really am. It’s all been building, you know? Ever since that man broke into my apartment with the knife. Just building and building, and now… it’s a relief, really. I’m not happy, just… yeah, relieved.” She glanced over at Finn, who had his eyes firmly fixed on the road as they drove. “Are you okay?”

“Yes… yeah. Poe had our phones – according to the statement he’ll be giving, we’ve been at his place for the last twenty minutes. He’s created a full digital alibi for us both.” Finn shook his head. “His work is very impressive.”

Rey snorted. “Yesssss. It’s his work that you find impressive.”

“It’s also his work,” Finn shrugged. “Among his other qualities.”

Rey tried to focus on Finn rather than on the curl of guilt in her gut, but it burned fast and bright. They had planned this all so carefully – to make sure that no innocent bystanders were hurt, to make sure that the explosion was targeted, limited – so the guilt of that, well, Rey could live with it.

But she’d lied to Ben. Conspired with Luke to create an alibi that Ben didn’t know he needed. Conspired with Finn, who had been leaking information about Ben for over a year. Conspired with Poe, who Ben might not believe had been working on his childhood friend’s redemption with little regard for what it might mean for his own career.

She had justified her actions over and again: it wasn’t as though Ben told her what he and Dom were up to, what they did when they disappeared for days. And any danger to herself was cancelled out by the clear danger of Snoke’s attempt on her daughter’s life.

Finn drove them as quickly as possible towards Primrose Hill. It wouldn’t be long before word of the attack on Snoke was everywhere. She tapped her foot against the floormat until Finn reached over to still her leg: “We’re nearly there, Rey. Everything is okay.”

She pulled everything into her, like she used to, tucked away all her emotions and worries so that nothing showed but a blank canvas. Wait and watch, she reminded herself. Wait and watch and stay strong.

About a kilometre from the house, they met up with Poe’s car and he handed over their phones.

“Rey, Ben texted seconds after the first blast…” She held her breath. “He wanted to know where you were. I texted back as you, said that you were with Finn and with me. Your phone’s been going off nonstop since then…” As if to prove his point, it vibrated again with an incoming message. “At least he’s given up trying to call.”

Rey felt her whole self wobble. “Is it Hanna…”

“No,” Poe gripped her shoulder. “No one is hurt. I told you that I would guard Ben and Hanna, and I have.”

They followed Poe’s car the few minutes more, but at the gate, Rey noticed that the number of guards had expanded from two to ten? Twelve? She couldn’t count them all. As she waited for the automatic gates to open, she saw Ben through the wide-open front door, and he braced to a halt, holding himself in freeze-motion against the doorframe of their house. He looked like he’d been running from somewhere else inside. By the time she climbed out of Finn’s car, he was in the drive, standing nearly on top of her.

For the first time, Rey was afraid of him. He looked as though he might hit her, or at the very least yell at her, so full of pent-up energy. Then he seemed to change his mind, grabbing her into a rough hug. With one of his hands behind her head, he pushed her nose almost painfully into his collarbone. His other arm around her waist had hefted her up off the ground; he stumbled back into the house, his face rubbing back and forth in her hair. Finn and Poe followed them to the threshold, but as soon as had Rey inside, Ben slammed the door on the two men.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her down to the floor of the front entranceway. “Are you all right?” He was looking her over, his hands pressed against her hips to keep her still for his inspection. Then they were pressing everywhere, her arms and legs and feet, her hands, her face. He laid her out on the hallway rug and started stroking the hair away from her eyes, a move fiercely done, every pass tugging her hair at the roots. “Oh God, Rey. Are you really okay?”

She reached to take hold of the hand in her hair. “I’m fine, Ben. Fine.” Her breath shuddered. “I was with…”

He pushed his palm harshly against her mouth. “Do not,” he shook his head and met her eyes. “Do not lie. Rey. You do not lie to me.” He kept his hand over mouth, easing off the pressure only a little. In the background, Rey could hear pacing and talking coming from further inside the house. She could hear Poe on the phone, outside. “Whatever comes out of your mouth, let it be the truth.” He released her. “Talk to me, Rey.”

“I tried to kill Snoke…”

Ben pressed his hand back over her mouth. Hi eyes closed and he breathed quietly, in then out. “Well, you succeeded,” he finally said. “He died of his injuries.” Keeping his eyes closed, he continued: “I didn’t think you’d do it. I didn’t think, with Hanna, I just didn’t think you’d risk yourself like that.”

She reached out and gripped his wrists. “I did it for Hanna. For you.”

He opened his eyes. “Did you think that I hadn’t noticed? That I don’t know what you’ve been up to? There are permanent sniper positions set up around the park, because you go there every day. I had my people hired by the zoo – I had to get them trained in animal care! - to protect you both. Did you think I wouldn’t know about what you’ve been planning?”

She stilled. “What are you saying?”

Ben sighed. “All of Snoke’s guards are mine. My men.” He shook his head wearily. “I didn’t know that you were going to do it today. I didn’t know exactly what your plan was. But I had slowly replaced his guards or turned the ones he had.”

Rey thought back: “That’s why they led him to the car, and why they left him there until the fuel tank exploded.”

Somehow Ben had reversed the hold she had on his wrists, and her own arms were pinned to the floor. “I didn’t know your plan, of course. The traitor – Finn –don’t think I’m not aware that the leaks to my mother and father were coming from him. I intended to kill him…”

Rey kicked to get free, but Ben pinned her legs to the floor with his weight. “Ben… no. You can’t hurt Finn!”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, forcing her head back onto the rug. “I intended to… but then he took you out on your birthday. He made you happy. He gave you good advice, and you trusted him. And… obviously I couldn’t hurt your friend.” Her body relaxed beneath him, just a fraction.

“Is Snoke really dead?” She felt cold of a sudden, and the image of the bloodied hand on the engine block came back to her.

Ben stretched out, hovering over her body in a plank, and he kissed her again. Softly this time, letting his nose trace across her cheek. “Yes, my love. He’s gone.”

“Are you angry?” His eyes were closed and he was kissing down her neck, then back up to her mouth.

“No, my love. I’m grateful.” He shifted, crouching across her legs, then lifted her up, both of them standing and looking into each other. She could hear Finn starting to pound on the front door, shouting her name. “Maybe we should try to keep fewer secrets from each other, though.”

“You gonna start?”

Ben was stroking his hands over her face, pushing her hair back and settling his fingers at the base of her neck, massaging gently. Rey felt a smile curl its way onto her lips. Then Ben’s serious eyes met hers: “The first problem is that Snoke’s dead.”

Rey felt the smile quiver. “Why is that a problem?” she whispered.

“Because it means that now, essentially… well, I’m Snoke.”

This information was hard to accept when he was looking at her with big puppy-dog eyes. “What? How… that can’t be true.”

“Dom and I have been in the middle of a long handover, but it’s … complicated. But as Snoke’s died unexpectedly…” Ben raised an eyebrow at her. “No, don’t worry, I can see you worrying.”

“Of course I’m worried!”

“Hey, hey, no.” He pulled her until her nose was crushed into his collarbone. “I’m quitting my job, ya know? I promise.”

Her voice was muffled in his jumper. “And what line of work were you considering as your next career?”

Ben grinned and led her into the front room. Dom was rocking Hanna in one arm as she slept, and texting furiously with the other hand. Luke was on the phone and she could hear Leia arguing with him down the line. “Not sure yet,” he said playfully, trying to lighten the tone, “But my girlfriend’s a mechanic. I know a lot about cars… maybe I could be of some use to her.”

She gestured to Luke and Dom, both now shouting into their phones, stressed and frustrated. “Will all this go away?”

“Eventually… yes.” She must have looked displeased. She certainly felt it. He quickly amended: “Soon. I meant soon. Yes. I will build a normal life for you and for Hanna, I swear it.”


	37. The Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost there, folks.

He could not marry her. The fact weighed on him, heavier every day, every minute. And as he sat on a creaky leather chair in front of the changing rooms at Selfridges, Ben was trying to imagine what he could do to prove his commitment, to make Rey-the-perpetual-orphan an official part of the family. Without compromising her financial position.

It had been just over a year since the last time they’d been here, the night that he thought of as their first date. Next week, Hanna would celebrate her first birthday, so with the excuse of a party in the offing, he had talked her into visiting Isabelle and finally – finally – buying this impossible woman some clothing. She’d spent six months after Hanna’s birth mainly wearing the clothes she’d bought at their last visit, the too-big waists held up with belts and occasionally rope. When he’d caught her twisting the awl on her Swiss army knife into a £300 belt that she’d nicked from his wardrobe, he had insisted that she call Isabelle and at least have some jeans sent over in her current size.

Knowing that he’d be unlikely to get her back into a changing room any time soon, he and Hanna had settled into the chair to wait for Rey to stock up.

Isabelle had already managed to assemble an impressive pile of lingerie, jeans, t-shirts, shoes and even some sandals that Rey had acquiesced to only when Isabelle insisted they were ‘hiking footwear’. The dress she had on now was luscious and silky and short, entirely too sexy for a one-year-old’s birthday party, but Ben could see Rey looking at herself in the mirror with an expression that could only be described as covetous.

“You look gorgeous in that dress,” he called over, one ankle propped on a low side table to that Hanna could cruise back and forth across his trouser leg. When Rey rolled her eyes in disbelief, he added: “I’m sure it would be very practical, then. All sorts of activities require short red dresses.”

Rey scoffed and the words, “Like what,” were out of her mouth before she realised what sort of activities Ben had in mind for the red dress. She glared at his raised eyebrow.

Isabelle pretended not to have understood this exchange. “I’ll add this one to the pile,” she smiled instead, “And I think one of these might be better for Hanna’s special day.” Rey pawed through a hanging rack of dresses that Isabelle had picked out for her try; Ben had seen a denim-ish dress at the front and assumed that would be her choice. He looked down to find Hanna dripping silent, fat tears as she clung to his ankle with one hand and the low table with the other, looking at him as though he had abandoned her there.

“Hanna, my little warrior,” he held out one finger and she released his sock to grip it, “have you managed to get stuck over there? You know you can just come back the same way you went.” A string of distressed babababa, complete with pouty bottom lip, said that his daughter wasn’t having any of it, and he needed to affect a rescue without further delay. He handed over the index finger of his other hand and guided her to walk back to him. A grin brightened across her face as made it back safely to his lap.

By the time he looked back at Rey, she was wearing an almost Grecian dress, yellow as a daffodil and belted with a soft bow that floated down to a slit in the material that reached mid-thigh. He never would have imagined her choosing something so unapologetically pretty. She twirled discreetly in front of the mirror, then caught Ben watching her. “It has pockets,” she shrugged. Ben smiled to himself at her refusal to admit that she might like a pretty spring dress.

“Pockets are practical,” he agreed without judgement. “Doesn’t mummy look beautiful, Hanna?” The baby clapped and giggled. “There you have it, your daughter approves.”

“Hmmm,” Rey was on the cusp of talking herself out of this, he could tell. So he quickly added, “I think yellow’s her favourite colour.”

Rey tilted her head, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he nodded sagely, “And pockets. So, you know…” He trailed off.

Rey pulled the dress off and hung it back up, standing in the dressing room in a cotton bra that matched her cotton knickers and bare feet that he knew from experience would feel like ice against his bare skin. Ben watched admiringly as she pulled on her own jeans and vest top and cardie, then snatched the dress off the rack. “I’ll take it to Isabelle…”

He stood, shifting Hanna onto one hip, and held his free hand out for the dress. “I’ll take care of all that,” he offered. “Why don’t you and Hanna make a start at the food hall?”

Rey’s eyes lit up, which made Ben happy all the way down to the black depths of his soul. Strapping Hanna into her pushchair, Rey practically skipped off to the lifts, then executed a sharp 180 with the buggy and came straight back to him. She leaned up far as she could and pressed a kiss to his face, then turned with a grin and made for the foodhall. Ben carried the dress over to the spot where Isabelle was packing up Rey’s spring/summer wardrobe.

He stood silently while he watched her work, blankly, until she finally blew a strand of hair from her face and looked up at him. “What is it, Mr Solo?”

Tapping his foot awkwardly, Ben hemmed, “I want to buy something for Rey.”

Isabelle looked around at the boxes and bags on the counter and the floor. “Okay,” she deadpanned. “Were you thinking of something specific?”

“Yes. I was thinking… a ring.”

Isabelle, who never gave away an unplanned emotion, raised a single eyebrow exactly one millimetre. “How exciting,” she said, not sounding excited in the slightest. “An engagement ring?”

“We can’t be engaged,” he corrected, and when she looked doubtful, added, “Legal reasons.”

“Okay, so a sort of promise ring. Come on,” she led him downstairs to the jewellery department, not saying a word along the way. She wound her way slowly through the displays of Bulgari and Bucherer and Tiffany and Van Cleef & Arpels, the shopfronts sparkling with excesses of diamonds and gold. Finally, at the back of the shop, she called over a male assistant in his fifties. She leaned over the countertop that separated them and explained something in a whisper. He disappeared.

“So,” Ben began, “maybe Tiffany…”

“Mr Ren,” Isabelle began in a hard tone, then continued, more softly, “Mr. Solo. Rey likes jeans and sturdy boots. She likes 100% cotton knickers and t-shirts, and since I once asked about it, she now likes to know that the cotton is Fair Trade. She never gives handbags or jewellery a second glance. She likes a pretty dress but it has to be both a bargain and practical…” Kylo tried to interject, but she spoke over him. “As a longtime personal shopping professional, I must insist that you stop trying to make her spend money she doesn’t feel comfortable spending. If I see a dress that I think will suit her, I watch and wait and maybe set it aside, until the price comes down to Rey level. I look far and wide to find pretty, organic cotton clothing in colours and patterns that I know she likes, all of it sourced from companies with ethical business practices. In short, she does not have a materialistic bone in her body, Mr Solo.”

He frowned. He wanted Rey to have a ring. He couldn’t marry her, but he wanted her to have something that showed the world that he belonged to her and had given her something serious and permanent to prove it. “So not Tiffany?”

She smiled. “No Tiffany. No rock visible to orbiting satellites.”

The clerk returned a moment later with a dark grey band set with a single, perfect but modest diamond. It didn’t shine, but instead seemed to absorb light and gently offer it back in a muted, softer form.

Ben leaned in for a closer look; the light and dark played around the smooth band. He had primed to buy a megawatt showstopper, but he had to admit that if Rey were choosing a ring, she would probably prefer this. “She’ll like this?”

“I know she will,” Isabelle answered confidently. “Titanium, tough like Rey. The diamond is set low, so it won’t catch as she works, and it is ethically sourced. And not so expensive that it will give her heart palpitations to wear it.”

“If she’ll like it, that’s all that matters,” he smiled. “Can we at least wrap it up pretty?”

Isabelle smiled back: “That I can do.”

…

Rey didn’t have to testify. There was no good legal reason for this, other than Luke’s genius, Ben’s ability to deepdive down any loophole and Leia’s connections and clout. So she sat in the gallery, behind Ben and Luke and Luke’s scurrying minions, solicitors who came and went with files and photos and mobiles that they passed back and forth to their boss. Maz sat with her sometimes, holding her hand. Other days it was Han. Leia was always there, but she was busy taking copious notes and shoving pieces of paper into Luke’s waiting hand.

There was a brief attempt, behind closed doors, to pin Snoke’s murder on Ben. Poe was on hand to detail Ben’s alibi and the witness statements that supported Ben’s alibi.

Rey’s name never came up in connection with Snoke; the second explosion was the only one written down – the initial device never found or mentioned. The driver, the guards… no one could remember anything about the mechanic who had tried to identify the diesel/petrol mix. Rose interviewed every last potential witness, and she never challenged their testimony when they referred to the mechanic as ‘he’.

It was four months into the on-again-off-again proceedings before Rey realised that Luke and Ben were stalling for time. She had never been inside a courtroom before and the process was opaque; she’d even had to hide her giggle behind her hand when she’d first seen Luke in that stupid wig. But clueless as she might have been at the start, no one could sit through the endless requests for investigation and the stays and the challenging of evidence and its provenance, without picking up that Luke was pretty obviously putting off the inevitable.

So that day, when Ben buckled himself into the passenger seat and she started up the car in the NCP carpark across from the courthouse, she finally asked him: “How long?”

He blinked and dodged. Checked his watch. “Hanna’s with Chewie and Maz – I think we’re okay if we pick her up by six, otherwise they might start to think we’re taking the piss.”

Rey gripped the steering wheel and pushed back into the Jag’s plush lumbar support with a frustrated sigh. “No, Ben. How long? In prison.”

She could feel his eyes on her although she kept staring out the windscreen, straight ahead. He inhaled slowly, then released the breath: “Ten years if I’m unlucky, likely halved on appeal.”

Rey felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Ten years. Hanna would be 11. Rey would be over 30, which seemed so far away that she could barely conceive of it.

And ten years without Ben, without Ben touching her, without kissing him. Without talking to him when she came in at night.

Or maybe just five years. Their baby would be in Year 2, doing sums in workbooks that she brought home from school, drawing Daddy behind bars on her family tree project.

When she came back to herself, Rey found that Ben had somehow manhandled her out of the driver’s seat, over the gearbox and into his lap, where he was hugging her tightly to his chest. “Rey, this is a good outcome. Luke’s managed to stave off the worst charges – I mean, we could have been looking at life without parole…”

Rey closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. He was right; he, Luke and Leia had worked legal miracles. “I just don’t want you to leave me and Hanna,” she said. “Ben, I’ll miss you so much, and our little girl…” She looked up to see Ben’s eyes filling up, too. “I’m sorry,” she brushed her fingers across his cheeks to catch the tears. “I know that you wouldn’t leave us, not if you didn’t have to. I don’t mean to make it worse. I’ll have your parents and Luke, Chewie, Maz, Giulia…”

“Don’t apologise to me, my love. This is all of it on me. I need to pay for what I’ve done… even it’s only a small fraction that I’m being judged on. I don’t deserve the leniency, Rey. But for your sake and for Hanna’s, I’m glad I won’t be getting what I deserve.”

She whispered the next part: “And I’m scared for you. I’m scared what might happen to you. In prison. If you might be targeted.”

Ben did not respond to that, just sat quietly, stroking her hair and face. They sat in the carpark for nearly 20 minutes, saying nothing, each thinking their own thoughts. Finally, Ben answered: “Nothing I can say will make you feel better about this, because your fears are valid. I can only keep saying that I’m sorry. And that’s not helping.” He took a deep breath, and let it out with: “I understand if you want to split up, Rey.” She froze under his hands, feeling more hopeless than ever. She did not want to split up, she just wanted what she could not have… Ben free and clear and at home with her and Hanna forever.

“I’m not booting you, Ben,” she sighed. “I love you. And I’ve got this fancy ring to prove that you love me…” She raised a smile from him. “Come on, this isn’t making anything better. Let’s get Hanna.”

….

Three weeks after their confrontation in the carpark, Ben received a Friday afternoon text from his mother: _Luke and I are coming over_.

Ben watched Hanna toddle unsteadily over the grass in the back garden, chasing a soap bubble he’d blown just over her head. Setting down the dish of soapy water and the wand, he texted back: _You know. Just tell me_.

_We’re picking up Rey and Han at the garage on the way_, she responded, ignoring his request. And then her phone went offline so that he couldn’t push. By the time he pocketed his phone, Hanna had made it over to him, clapping and laughing and tugging at his jeans. “Baba up!” He picked his daughter up and settled her on his lap, reaching for the worn copy of Is That My Puppy? on the picnic blanket. “Not up, little love,” he responded sardonically. “Baba’s being sent down.”

When Rey arrived, she deliberately sat across the sitting room from him, rather than next to him on the sofa. Leia did not make them wait: she had received a warning from a contact in the judiciary that Ben was getting a custodial sentence at his hearing on Monday.

Eight years.

Luke held Rey’s hand, even though she had not made a sound.

“That’s automatic release at four years,” Leia ploughed on. “And we will of course try to have you released earlier on licence…”

Four years. Four. Years. Hanna would be five and a half. She’d have forgotten him. Rey would be married to someone far better than he.

“Where?” Ben asked, his voice steady.

Luke met his gaze, and he almost knew the answer based on the compassion in his uncle’s eyes. “Pentonville.”

Ben nodded. A prison for violent crimes. The prosecutors had not managed to pin a violent crime on him, but the judge knew what Ben was and what he had done, and he was taking the only option open to him: make the four years a hard four.

Rey stood up, handing Hanna to her grandfather. “I need some air,” she announced, and walked out the front door. When Ben followed, she held up a hand, “Why don’t you talk this over with Luke and Han. Leia, do you fancy a walk?”

Ben flinched as the door closed behind them, and Hanna grizzled for her mummy until Luke distracted her.

Han moved closer, throwing an arm over Ben’s shoulders. “Put the call in, kid. Dom will have your protection sorted by the time you arrive on Monday.”

Still nodding like an automaton, Ben texted Dom. Within minutes, his friend replied that he shouldn’t worry, no one would touch him, Dom had it in hand. Luke kept talking, telling Ben what he already knew: four years was the worst case scenario but not the most likely one; he and Leia would be working to have him released on licence, and the comforting platitudes went on and on as Ben steeled himself for the slow death of Rey’s love.

Rey and Leia returned over an hour later, both with red eyes and resolute expressions. Possibly there would be no slow death of love, possibly she’d just stab it through the heart right now, put an end to the crazy whirlwind he had unleased back when he asked her to come for a drink in that hotel on the Thames.

Instead, Rey walked straight into the arms he had not realised he was holding out for her. With her head beneath his chin, Rey wasn’t crying or shaking, just holding him tight. He heard his parents and Luke murmuring to each other, moving about the house. His mother packed up a bag for Hanna and his father told him that they’d drop her back tomorrow morning. Then the front door was closed, and he was alone with Rey.

They sat on the floor of the living room, facing each other, his back against the sofa and hers against an armchair. About a minute, he estimated, before he reached out a hand across the empty space between them and curled it gently around the back of her neck, pulling her close. She let him kiss her, so it felt, passively responsive, until she seemed to realise that there was nothing to talk about. Nothing else to do.

Rey tipped herself onto her knees, inching closer until she could grab hold of his belt. While she was tugging open his belt buckle, he pulled her shirt over her head and unhooked her bra. He pushed her back onto the rug, his mouth around a nipple and one hand working its way into her unbuttoned jeans.

“Ben… god…” she sighed as he tugged the jeans over her hips, “I wanted to get my mouth on you…”

“Me first,” he wrangled her jeans and knickers off her legs. “I don’t want to forget how this feels, how you look when I have my head between your legs.”

“Oh fuck.” Rey stopped struggling and let go of the front of his trousers, laying back on the rug. She stroked his hair with one hand and anchored herself to the coffee table with the other. “That is so good.”

He licked her hard and fast, until the much slower rhythm of Rey’s hand in his hair calmed him down. He should savour this, take his time while he had it to give. He brought both palms under her arse and lingered, pressing his tongue against her until she squirmed, then shook, then finally melted into his hands.

As Rey lifted herself dramatically from the floor, making a show of being boneless with satisfaction, he sat back to give her some room. She worked off his trousers and boxer briefs, then leaned in over his cock. Her hair brushed his thighs and he relaxed; he could make out the scent of her shampoo over the scent of her arousal and his. She licked once over his shaft and slip her lips around the head of him, sucking lightly. How was he expected to make it four years without Rey’s mouth on his cock? Four years without her hands fisting him while came down her throat? His mind raced away down this rabbit hole, until her mouth disappeared with a final wet lick.

“No, I know you. A blow job gives you too much time and space to think, and I don’t want you thinking right now.” She lifted his shirt over his head and smoothed her hands over his chest and shoulders, down his arms, admiring him as she went, maybe committing him to memory the way he was… “Stop thinking,” she said sharply, closing a hand over his bicep and tugging. “Get on top of me, do all the work… don’t leave your mind any room to interfere.” God, she was beautiful, naked on the rug, her lips a little swollen from sucking at him. He loved her so much that he thought for a moment he might cry. “Solo,” she reached around and slapped him on the arse. She tucked a pillow under the small of her back. “You’re fucking me, remember? Hard.”

When he slid in, when she was wet and silky around him, he stopped thinking about the immediate future, about last times. From the first solid stroke to the last erratic push, desperate and sweaty and deep, he had nothing but the warm reality of Rey’s body and soul on his overcrowded mind.

…

He hadn’t thought that he’d sleep – if he could stay awake for the next 48 hours he would - but as it turned out, there were only so many orgasms a man could have before succumbing to the inevitable. They’d made it to the bed at some point, via the kitchen counter and the sofa, and now Rey was fast asleep next to him, naked and uncovered, face down and nose-first against his hip. He wandered naked into the front room and found his trousers where he’d left them, on the rug. He dug his abandoned phone out of his pocket and found a text from his Dad, sent half an hour ago: _Hanna’s fine. Text when you two are ready. No rush_. The phone claimed it was now 6.17am, though it felt much later. Like he’d missed much more of the day. Missed more of the little time that he had left.

Not bothering to waste time getting dressed, he made them both coffee and headed back to bed. Rey was coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy blue towel, running a brush through her wet hair.

“You showered?” he asked, setting her coffee on the bedside table.

She tossed the towel behind her onto the bathroom floor and leapt onto the bed, bouncing twice before coming to rest near the headboard. “I was covered in… well, you know.”

“Yeah, I was there,” he smiled, settling down next to her with his mug. “I remember all of it.”

“Do we have to talk now? I was hoping to get in one more round before Hanna comes home.” She pressed a coffee-flavoured kiss to his lips, then arranged herself on her side, facing him.

“We should talk a little. Things between the two of us,” he spoke quietly. “I don’t expect you to wait, Rey.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ben.” He could see her eyes filling up. “You know very well that I’m waiting. Next.”

“No, Rey, you’re young…”

“Do you honestly think that I haven’t been through all of this? I’m young, and I’ll still be pretty young four years from now. I will still love you. I do not want to meet anyone else, and yes I am old enough to know my own mind in this. So if the next words out of your beautiful mouth are some patronising bollocks…”

“Okay,” he soothed, wiping her tears with the corner of the duvet cover. “Okay. I will never question that again, my love.”

He stretched out on his side, his head propped up on his hand. “I don’t want you coming to the prison, Rey. Promise me.”

Blinking, Rey looked at him as though he were stupid. “What… you think I’ll go four bloody years without seeing you? When you’re in a prison that’s a ten-minute drive from this house?” She shook her head. “Your mum told me that she’s already pinned the visiting hours to her fridge, Ben. You will be seeing me as often as prison rules allow.”

“I don’t want any of those men looking at you, making a connection between us…”

“Give over, Ben, for feck’s sake. Anyone who wants to know of our connection already does, and anyone seeking to make something of it will find themselves on the wrong end of Dom’s gun. I may have been naïve in the beginning, but I’ve figured out what’s what by now. So… next.”

Some of the weight that had settled into Ben’s heart lifted as she spoke. He believed her when she made a promise, he couldn’t help it.

“All right, I concede on both points.” She laughed at him, and he grinned back. “But this one isn’t up for negotiation.” Her smile faded, and her spine tensed, ready for a fight. “You will never, ever bring Hanna to that place. I will not have it. I will not have her in that hellhole, seeing me in there…” He paused to breathe.

“Ben,” she whispered, “you can’t go four years without seeing your daughter.”

He shook his head. “Those four years will hurt me, but not her. Please, Rey. Not Hanna. Promise me that you will never, ever bring her to the prison.” It hurt to even think of it, but he could not bear the thought of his pure, perfect little girl in that place. Seeing him behind plexiglass, in prison uniform. Forming her first memories of him in prison.

“Ben, what is the alternative? That she not see her father for four years? You’re just going to disappear out of her life after being there for every sniffle and giggle?”

“Rey. Promise.”

Finally, she nodded. They held each other until it they couldn’t stand to be away from Hanna any longer.

…

Rey was used to losing, and each time she lost, it had been catastrophic, because she had so little to begin with. She’d had £1.50 stolen from her backpack in Year 6, and she’d cried as it had taken her weeks to save it up and she had no other money. She’d lost her friends soon after A-levels, as no one wanted to take on the project of a homeless girl they’d only known for a single school year. She’d lost her parents and never really recovered.

So it was strange on Monday, in the courtroom, when the judge handed down the exact sentence that Leia had predicted. Ben stood, tall and so handsome in his dark blue, spotless, ridiculously expensive suit. He turned and gave her a kiss, hugged his mother and then his father and then Luke, then gave her one final kiss. He shook Dom’s hand. Dom, who had somehow sidled up to Rey and now stood next to her, arms crossed, expression fierce. Her own personal guard dog.

And then a uniformed officer cuffed his wrists, and he walked away without looking back.

Rey shuddered a sigh, but Han’s arm was around her shoulders and Leia had both of her hands and Luke was patting her back. She needed to get back to Chewie by 12.30, to pick up Hanna.

It was strange, she thought. She had lost Ben. But she hadn’t lost everything.


	38. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, the final chapter. I hope that if you made it this far, you found it worth your time and effort! xx

Rey looked especially beautiful today. He could tell that Isabelle had been finding a way to update Rey’s wardrobe, because the fabrics looked richer and softer than before, they suited her shape better. She looked like she had been layered in sunny-blue cashmere today, and as he held her hand across the table, he drank in the sight of shape of her thighs through her skinny jeans and the drape of her top over her breasts.

Her stories about her studies, her work at the garage, how his Dad was transferring the business to her as she learned the clients and cars, Ben loved every moment he had with her. Today she wanted to know if he’d consider doing some lower-circuit racing with Han and Chewie’s handbuilt cars – a new line of the business. Rey was a good driver, but not a racing driver, and Luke was getting too old to be battered around on the track. Why not, he agreed readily, he was looking for a new career.

He would do whatever Rey told him to do. For the rest of his life, quite willingly.

She brought a scribble that Hanna had done for him and she handed him her phone – which were strictly forbidden on prison visits, a rule like many that never seemed to apply to him – so that he could scroll through the photos and videos of Hanna. In one, she was dancing about in the mini coveralls that his Mum had made for her, with attached tutu. Her near-black hair was down past her shoulders now, curling and thick, exactly like his own when he grew it out. He hadn’t seen her in person in a year, but she sang him songs that Rey would record and she drew him pictures. He knew that Rey and his parents and uncle were keeping him alive for her.

None of which made it hurt less.

“Funniest thing,” Rey said, leaning back for a good view of him. “Finn’s moved in to a flat like three streets away from me and Hanna. He moved in three weeks ago; Poe’s gonna be moving in with him later this month.”

“Really?” Ben tried to sound surprised. “That’ll be nice for you, having your friends so close.”

“He’s over the moon – never thought he could afford a place in Primrose Hill.”

She waited. He gave her a blank look that never wavered. Finally, after a substantial standoff, Rey picked up his hand and kissed his palm. “Thank you, Ben,” she whispered to him.

When Rey left, Ben headed to the canteen for lunch. He grabbed himself a tray of limp sandwiches and over-strong tea and walked towards a table where two of his underlings were sitting, men he’d known since the early days of working for Snoke. He was so used to everyone diving out of his way, that he nearly tripped over a nervous-looking man about twice his age who had not stepped to the side.

“Sorry, sorry,” the man spluttered. Ben took only minor notice of him as the inmate backed two steps away, making room for Kylo Ren to pass – no weapons, Ben could tell, passive body language – this was no threat. His two former colleagues at the table had stood at the intrusion, but even they seemed placated, and sat back down.

The nervous man, though, seemed to think that engaging in further conversation was the way to smooth over the situation. “I saw your girlfriend.” Ben, who had already turned his back on the man and was halfway to the table, stopped walking. “She’s fit. You’re a lucky bastard.”

Ben turned around, slowly, to face the man. This man might have been new. Ben didn’t know who he was or what he was in for, but he very obviously did not know better than to speak to Kylo Ren. Or mention Rey. No one, ever, mentioned Rey. Or looked at Rey. Or acknowledged Rey’s existence, even in private.

“Beautiful, I guess, not fit,” the inmate amended, sensing that by the look on Ben’s face he’d chosen the wrong adjective. 

The canteen had gone silent. Three men who were just entering turned around and walked back out. The table he had been heading to cleared out, his mob connections circling wide to contain any trouble.

Ben sighed inwardly. He didn’t want to have to do this. “My girlfriend?” he asked, low and serious. The inmates working behind the counter at the canteen vanished into the kitchen and shut the door.

“Or your wife? Yeah… I… hey, mate, I was just paying my respects,” he had both hands up in front of him, palms out, placating. “I just seen her wearing that ring and she’s always comin’ to see you…”

Ben smashed his tray across the man’s face without a further thought, the plastic shattered and embedded in the idiot’s jaw. He might have left it at that, but the reference to the ring made it impossible to hold back. Rey had been wearing her ring on a chain around her neck today – she often did if she was coming from working in the garage, and sometimes she’d forget to put it back on after cleaning the grease from her hands. When he noticed, she would always let him unclasp the necklace and slide it back onto her finger. Today, her soft, woven, sky blue top had fallen into a v between her breasts, and from his vantage point at her side, Ben had been able to see a hint of a silky bra in a deeper blue, the ring resting there against an edging of lace. He’d spent much of their visit thinking about licking along the line of her bra, letting his hands slip under the material of her shirt.

Any man who had seen Rey’s ring, had been looking at Rey’s tits.

While he’d been thinking all of this, reliving the luscious sight of Rey’s cleavage, he had pinned the inmate to the ground, his knees on the man’s chest and throat. Four prisoners pulled him off before he could kill the wanker, and two of Ben’s henchmen carried the fuckwit’s broken body away.

He knew that there would be no investigation, and if there was, no one would have seen anything. The CCTV would be wiped. Dom paid generously to clean up any incidents, and Ben tried to keep any incidents to a minimum. Some things, though, he could not allow anyone to get away with. He would beat men dead before he allowed anyone at Pentonville to think they could comment on Rey.

…

“Rey gave me one of these this morning,” Leia handed Ben one of the cards that Rey had ordered for Han and Chewie’s garage.

“I didn’t know Dad’s garage had a name,” Ben mused, turning the glossy business card over in his hands. Solo Racing and Repair, it said in stylized blue writing.

“It didn’t, but Rey’s finished her course and is applying the marketing module to your father. It’s a joy to watch,” Leia laughed. She stole looks at her son; he grew nervous and irritated if she started at him too much. His hair had grown longer and his biceps bigger; he’d looked like an overpriced lawyer before, and he looked like a street tough now. “The client base has more than doubled already – I mean, you know your Dad and Chewie were only looking after one car a week or so, so more than doubled isn’t really that much business – but I think it’s going to take off.”

Ben smiled, and seeing his true smile still took Leia’s breath away. “She’s so smart and determined,” he twirled the card between his fingers. “She’ll make a mad success of that place. They gonna expand?”

“I think so. They have the land,” Leia shrugged. “You can ask Han tomorrow when he visits. She’s a marvel, that girl. She has Han and Chewie building a car that will rival the F1 superstars.”

“She’s already made me agree to drive it,” he stopped and looked over the card. “This is a card for Dad,” he said, noticing the name below the logo. “Didn’t Rey make any for herself?”

“Oh?” Leia said, and she could tell by the unimpressed look on Ben’s face that he was not fooled by her nonchalance.

Ben’s face had that little frown line, always at the ready, between his eyebrows. It had been there since he was a toddler. “Mum, what.”

“What what?” she tried.

He rolled his eyes and the line deepened. “Just tell me.”

She sighed. “Rey meant to talk to you about this herself, but you know Hanna’s had that cold and then there was parent-teacher evening at the nursery…”

“Mum.”

Reluctantly, Leia dipped into her bag and pulled out a second card. “This isn’t permanent or anything. She just wanted to try it out, check with you…”

“Mum!” He had his hand out on the plastic table, making grabby motions toward her bag.

She pushed the card across the table to him and watched his eyes squint, then expand, and finally go a bit misty. Underneath the logo, in the same stylised blue, it read: Rey Smith Solo.

…

It was so much money. The garage, which Han and Chewie had run more or less as a charity/hobby, now had more clients than they could handle. Rey hired two new mechanics, then doubled that. When she found herself snowed under with paperwork that her business module hadn’t prepared her for, Ben suggested that rather than doing the deskwork herself, she should hire an office manager. It was saving her sanity, and it meant that she could still work on cars rather than monthly payroll. Giovanni had been invaluable, helping her at every turn to set up her business right and proper.

Very expensive cars with very wealthy owners who treated their supercars as beloved pets: Rey couldn’t conceive of all the cash washing through her business account. She hired on two apprentices, both teens who had been in care and went to the local comprehensive, and she paid them a real living wage, not the pathetic minimum for minors.

Still, so much money. She had no mortgage, Han had bought her a car, and Hanna – despite Leia’s persuasive talks about private schools – would be going to the state primary two streets over. Hanna’s nursery fees, which would have crippled Rey at 20, did not make a dent in her finances at 23.

Ben was forthcoming about most things, but his net worth wasn’t one of them. The money that had not been handed over to the courts was hidden far off-shore, and she doubted most or any of it was legal. Leia and Han had money she could not even conceive of, and Hanna had money enough in trust to buy herself a university education and a house, when the time came.

“You can give to charity, or set up a trust,” Luke suggested. At long last, Rey decided to set up a fund that would act as a safety net for children in care after they left school. It was the time, Rey decided, when the lack of a family or any sort of social safety net hit the hardest. She had intended to use her share of the profits from the garage to fund the trust, but Chewie and Han handed over their shares, as well.

Apparently, they did not need the money they earned.

Today, Rey pushed a sheet of lined paper across the table to Ben; it was streaked in blue ink and written formally in passable penmanship. She tapped her foot on the ground, waiting for Ben to finish reading the letter.

“I’m nervous – I have twenty-some letters to get through, but this one stuck out. He has teacher recommendations, too –“ she pushed another two papers to him. “Han says I can’t just give money to all of them, and I need to set up some criteria for making a decision, but it’s so hard when I can empathise and since you’re not so emotionally involved in the kind of things these kids went through…”

She looked up to see Ben had set the letter down and was looking at her with a soft expression. “You think I’m not emotionally involved in the plight of foster children?” he asked quietly. Rey shrugged, unsure. “My love,” he reached across the table for her hand, turned it over and ran his thumb over her palm as he continued to read. “I think that Treyvon looks like just the sort of person you want to support. He’s worked hard in school, and if he had the funds for university and basic living costs, he has a place at Cambridge studying chemistry.”

Rey let out the breath she had been holding. “Thank you, Ben. I think so, too.” She gathered up the papers and smoothed them back into a file. “I’m going to call the school tomorrow. I’m so excited for him!”

Ben snuck a glance at her phone. “There’s enough time to call today, if you want.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, smiling. “I’ll call today.”

…

“You know, madrina, it’s against prison rules to bring food to inmates.”

He prodded open the pink bakery box that Giulia had just set before him.

“You want me to take that back, young man?”

“Nope,” he said, taking a swipe at the ricotta filling with one finger and licking it clean. “Just tell me if there’s a nail file in this thing before I bite into it.” He pulled the box away as Giulia swiped for it.

“Do you want me to bust you out of here, Biniamino? We could have arranged that two years ago. I’m not ruining a good cannoli with hardware.”

Ben smiled and took a hefty bite.

“This is left over from Hanna’s birthday party yesterday,” Giulia continued with a fond smile. “She wanted these instead of cake, my good little Siciliana.”

Ben chewed thoughtfully. “That was nice of you, madrina, to make her birthday sweets. Lots of kids there?”

“Ten from her nursery – you’re lucky your house is still standing.” She tapped at her phone until a photo flashed up: Hanna and Rey leaning in together to blow out three candles on a pretty pink cannolo. Leia was off to the side, clapping, and the camera had caught a blurred flash of his Dad, walking by in the background.

“Thank you, auntie. I can’t believe I missed another birthday.”

Giulia leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Don’t you worry, figlioccio. You’ll be there for the next one. Leave it to your madrina.”

…

His Auntie Giulia certainly chose her moments, even if he had indeed spent Hanna’s fourth birthday behind bars. Thirteen months after Hanna’s third birthday, on a brilliantly sunny, unusually hot Spring day, Dom dropped him off down the street from his house. With the SUV in park, his old friend hugged him across the central console and promised to make himself scarce.

“Rey’s having a barbeque on the bank holiday weekend,” Dom told him. “So I’ll see you next week, okay? You know, you really should have told her about the early release. I’ve felt like a fucking bastard keeping it from her.”

“My Mum and Dad don’t even know,” Ben began, but noticed Dom avert his gaze. “Shit, you told Dad?”

“He got it out of Giulia. He hasn’t let slip, though.”

“I just didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, if it didn’t go through.” Ben opened the car door and stepped out into the sunny May day. “I’ll see you next week. Thanks for the ride.”

He walked the short distance to his front gate. Rey had planted a wild assortment of flowers on every available patch of dirt not given over to lawn, so the garden was overgrown in the best way, pink and yellow and white flowers spilling out past the locked front gate.

He dug out the key that he’d been staring longingly at for three years and unlocked the gate to the front walk. His blue suit, freshly drycleaned and fitting a bit tighter around the chest and biceps than it had three years ago, was soon covered in pollen and flowers as he pushed past the shrubbery around the gate.

He managed to brush off some of the cow parsley flowers sticking to his jacket before he saw Hanna a few feet away, doing handstands on patch of damp grass. She had a few freshly picked flowers crushed in one hand, her grass-stained knees were flailing about in the air to keep balance and a flood of thick, dark waves of hair were pooled in the mud. She tumbled gracelessly onto her bum, then stared up at the sky as Ben stood stock still on the lawn. “Hanna,” he finally breathed, and at last she turned her face toward him.

She hopped to her feet, not frightened or even surprised at his appearance, and hopped over on one leg, pausing halfway to switch feet. She stopped nearly on top of his dress shoes and looked the long way up into his face, one hand shading her dark eyes.

“You’re my Daddy,” she said to him, matter-of-factly.

“Yes, Hanna, I am.” In all the photographs he had of her, all the videos, she looked nothing like this: calm and clever and straight-forward, her hair and eyes so uncannily his and her manner all Rey’s.

“Mummy said you swim good. Are you going to teach me swimming?” She bounced on her toes. “Can we go now? Mummy makes me wear water wings and I _hate_ water wings.” 

He nodded, rendered momentarily speechless by his daughter’s unthinking acceptance.

“Daddy?” she demanded. “Can we go swimming now?”

He was sure he was falling into some sort of parenting trap by agreeing to take her swimming before he had even been through the front door. Also, the juxtaposition of prison in the morning and a municipal swimming pool a few hours later struck him as absurd. “Sure,” he said anyway. “Let’s find Mummy first, though, okay?”

Hanna grabbed his hand eagerly and started running toward the house; he was still walking, so the effect was something like a lone dog trying to scurry across ice while strapped to a huge sled. Her little hand felt so right in his, still so small, and he could walk all sort of places now, with her little hand in his: to the playpark or the zoo, down to that diner he liked in Camden, if it was still there; he could buy his daughter a milkshake.

He wondered if she’d let him hug her.

Flinging open the front door so hard that it slammed into the wall with a resounding crack, Hanna called out: “Mummy! I’m going swimming!” Ben looked down at her, bemused, as she kept yelling at Rey. “Where’s my costume?”

Somewhere upstairs, Ben heard the sound of footsteps; he recognised them as coming from the room that Rey told him she had converted into an office. Hanna stood at the bottom of the stairs, threw back her head and cried out, reminiscent of Richard III calling for a warhorse: “Where’s my swimming costume?”

“It’s in the bottom drawer of your dresser… why do you want it… _what is going on_?” More stomping. “Grandpa was supposed to be encouraging you to take a nap. Don’t you want to go out for ice cream with Nana tonight?”

While Rey fumed, Hanna led Ben into the kitchen. He watched as she dragged a stool from its resting place by the fridge to another counter across the kitchen. Climbing up then going onto her tiptoes, Hanna reached for the kettle. Ben sprang into action, worried that there might be hot water inside.

“Whoa, there. What are you doing?”

Hanna looked at him like he was a particularly slow learner. “Putting the kettle on for tea. When Grandpa or Nana come to the house, Mummy always makes tea. Don’t you like tea?”

“I like tea, but let’s just wait for Mummy to come downstairs…”

“Hanna, for heaven’s sake, where is Grandpa?” He heard her open the front door and call out across the front garden for Han, who seemed to have mysteriously disappeared, no doubt tipped off by Dom. Ben felt it all the way down his spine when she slammed the front door in a huff and stomped toward the kitchen. “If I don’t sort these invoices then I’ll have HM Customs and Excise on my… Omigod.” A file of papers hit the floor as Rey rounded the corner and clocked Ben.

Hanna stood at his side and swung her arms out, gesturing at him like she had pulled him from a magician’s hat: “Mummy, look! Saaa – prize!”

Rey looked… God. So beautiful. She was wearing denim shorts that showed off the whole of her luscious legs, and a long-sleeved floral top that displayed a hint of her flat belly. Her bare feet ended in bright pink toenail polish, the exact same shade that Hanna was sporting on roughly half of her fingernails.

She also looked… not happy. Not unhappy, either. Maybe astounded? She wasn’t the fainting type, Ben thought, but he found himself edging into a position from which he could dive to catch her if she passed out.

“Mummy,” Hanna stage-whispered to her, tugging on Ben’s hand for emphasis. “It’s Daddy.” She waved up at him, and then she mimed a few front crawl strokes. “He’s taking me swimming.”

Before his daughter could finish her sentence, Rey rushed him. The jump started a good half-metre from him, and thanks to prison reflexes, Ben was ready to catch her, but he was still knocked back against the counter when she landed, her arms thrown messily around his head. Her legs scrambled up until they were hooked at the small of his back, and her face was inelegantly smooshed into the space just below his left ear.

She was breathing so loudly, her heart whizzing away with the rhythm of frightened rabbit’s, that he could not make out what she said to him. The grip she had on his neck was suffocating.

“Hey,” he whispered. “My love, Rey.” He wedged his left arm beneath her to hold her up and used the other to rub deeply at the nape of her neck. “It’s okay, my love. I’m back. Not going anywhere.” She nodded tightly beneath his chin but neither let go nor answered him. “I’m just gonna…” he eased himself away from the counter and towards the living room. “Little love, lead me to a sofa. I think I may need to sit down with Mummy for a few minutes.”

With a huff and a stomp and a grumble about swimming, Hanna whirled out of the kitchen and into the living room. She pointed to a tasteful grey sofa covered in a kaleidoscope of colourful cushions, his mother’s refined taste drowning in a sea of Rey and Hanna’s sewing projects. Sinking into the cushions, he moved Rey onto one leg and pulled her close, rubbing his hand in circles over her back and neck.

Ben looked down and noticed that Hanna was suddenly looking tearful.

“Daddy, did you make Mummy sad?”

“No, Hanna, I think I just surprised her. She’ll feel better soon.”

“I want up, too,” she sniffed.

Ben held out his hand and helped her climb into his lap. Hanna plonked herself on the edge of his knees, clinging to Rey’s back like a monkey; he adjusted his arms so that they surrounded Hanna, his fingers laced together behind her back. Rey hung on, keeping her forehead pressed to his chin. He sat there until he lost all feeling in both legs, until Hanna squirmed her way free, insisting that she would find her swimming costume and goggles her own self, thank you very much. Until Rey lifted her face to his and kissed him like she meant it.

…

Hanna came crashing into the shop from the track in the field beyond, running at top speed with her helmet in one hand. At the sight of his daughter rushing in, Ben nearly dropped his mug of coffee onto the floor.

“Hanna! What’s wrong?” He dropped to one knee and caught her up in his arms.

“I…” she gasped for breath, bent over with one of her hands on Ben’s shoulder to stabilise herself. Rubbing her back, Ben waited for her to catch her breath. The she broke into a huge grin. “I beat Uncle Luke! We raced three…”

“Four,” Luke corrected, ambling into the barn after Hanna. “Four laps.”

“Wow,” Ben nodded approvingly, “I don’t think I beat Uncle Luke until I was 10.”

Hanna’s eyes went wide. “I’m only seven! So I’m faster than you?”

“No way,” Han scoffed from the desk across from Ben’s. “Your Daddy is the fastest of all of us.”

Luke grumbled, “I can barely get my knees to bend into those little go-carts anymore.” He held out his hand to the little girl. “Let’s try again in the Porsche, Hanna.”

“No,” both Han and Ben yelled. But Han had a devilish grin on his face, “So you think you could beat your Dad?”

“Easy,” said Hanna. “Mummy says he takes the third turn too slow.”

“I said that was a secret, Hanna!” Rey’s voice carried from the far side of the workshop, where she was elbow deep in a Lotus.

Luke shrugged. “Only one way to find out if you’ve still got it, kid.”

Chewie signed his contribution. “Thanks, Uncle Chewie. I appreciate your confidence,” Ben deadpanned. “I took first at the Brands Hatch demo race not two weeks ago!”

Hanna patted her father’s knee. “I was really proud of you, Daddy.” Then the soft smile on her face morphed into a frightening facsimile of her grandfather’s smirk. “And if you’re too scared to race me in the go-carts, then I understand. Maybe Grandpa Han and Uncle Chewie’s cars that make you win those races.”

Ben stood to his full height and stared hard at his daughter. “You ungrateful little whelp. You’re going down. Get your helmet.”

Hanna giggled and took her helmet from Luke, then held up two hands in a T. “Time out. I need a snack first. And water.”

Ben tossed her an apple from the bowl on his desk. He walked over to Rey where she was washing the grease off her hands in the sink, and he snuggled up behind her, his hands on her hips. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and leaned up to kiss him. “You coming to see me wipe the track with your first born?” he asked against her lips.

“You’re not going to let her win?” Rey smiled at him.

“Not a chance. She needs to be taught a lesson.”

“I dunno, Ben. You’re a lot heavier than she is and you do take that third turn too slow…”

“It’ll tip over if I take it any faster. That go-cart isn’t balanced for someone my height,” he groused and turned her around in his arms and she laughed at him, then leaned up to kiss him properly while the others were busy getting Hanna into her helmet.

“Drivers are always blaming the engineering,” she sighed, slipping her hand into his.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he nuzzled at her hair and hugged her close.

“Always.”

“I’m kinda over this kid. I think she’s about ready to move out and pay her way.”

“She is a very precocious seven,” Rey agreed.

“There’s no hero worship anymore, and I’m a little afraid that she is actually going to beat me. If that happens, I’m not going to be Daddy. Just the guy who can’t match her down the straight.”

She nodded along. “I’m willing to bet you’ll be one of many can’t match her down the straight.”

“What d’ya say… we could have another?” Rey looked up at him… was he blushing a little bit? He seemed nervous.

“You mean… have a child that we _planned_?” Rey mimed her mind being blown. “I dunno, Ben. Seems a bit extra.”

“You don’t want to have my baby?” A bit uncertain.

“Been there, done that,” she sing-songed. Now Ben looked - she wasn’t sure from this angle, his chin tilted up to the ceiling, not looking at her – but she thought that he looked crushed. “Oh, my love, hey. Hey.” She tried to force him to look at her. “Ben. C’mon.” She finally caught his face in her hands and forced him to meet her eyes. “Ben, I would love to have another baby. All planned and responsible-like. I’m ready.”

He looked a little sceptical but mostly a lot in love with her; it was one her favourite of Ben’s facial expressions. “Yeah?”

“So ready. Consider my pills flushed. Except not really – they’re super bad for the water supply.”

“I can take you back to that hotel…”

Rey snorted. “So you reckon that your magic sperm are going to hit the bullseye in one dirty weekend?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Might do,” he whispered. “I’ll get the same room, buy you a fizzy water. You can wear that sexy little black dress.”

“Let go of my arse, sir,” she swatted him. “Go.” She picked his helmet up off her worktable and shoved it into his arms. “Go lose that race to your little girl. Then later, after we’ve all taken her out for a celebratory ice cream and let her sleep over at your parents’ place, we can start… planning.”

“I want to start planning now,” he had her lifted off the ground, both hands full of her arse.

“Ahem,” Luke stood in the wide doorway to the garage, his hands over Hanna’s eyes, his head shaking back and forth. Han and Leia were hovering behind him, laughing. “Whatever you’re planning to start, this is neither the time nor the place.”

With a sigh, Ben set Rey back on her feet. He held her there a beat longer, enough time for a chaste kiss. “Think you’re wrong about the place, but I take your point about the time, barrister.”

Luke gave Han a push in the direction of the track, and Ben could hear his mother whispering about more grandchildren as they walked away. Blushing, Rey ducked beneath his grasp and sprinted over to Hanna, skipping with her out of the garage and toward the track, trailing Ben’s parents and uncle.

“Daddy! C’mon! You gonna lose,” Hanna called back over her shoulder. Rey stopped on the gravel walk just beyond the forecourt of the garage, turning around to look back at the ‘Solo Motors’ sign on the roof. She did this every single time she left the building for the day – she’d told Ben that she needed to remind herself daily that all of this was real.

She lowered her eyes from the sign and found Ben looking at her. “You okay there, mechanic?”

“I’m okay, pilot. Just wondering if, with all we have, dunno, hmmm. If the universe or whatever is going to give us more.”

Ben shrugged as he caught up to them. He picked up Hanna and tipped her over his shoulder, holding her steady with one arm over the backs of her legs. With the other, he took Rey’s hand. “I’ll book the hotel room. Let’s find out.”

* * *


End file.
